Chained Hearts
by CupcakeSprinkles14
Summary: RE-WRITE! AU-In a world were women are the dominant species and men are only deemed useful for reproduction, slavery and pleasure, and love has been unheard of for over a 100 years, how will Katniss cope when she's sent to live with her Aunt Effie and meets her aunt's slave Peeta Mellark? Will love blossom or will the new world law keep them apart? - Banner by Ro Nordmann
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi everyone. Here's my re-write of Chained hearts! Sorry to anyone who didn't want me to re-write it but I think this is for the best. The storyline is a bit different but the plot and core of the story is the same.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

Prologue

_"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."_

_I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood._

_I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice." _

The history teacher reads the speech from the textbook at a dreadfully slow pace before looking up at the class with a grimace on her face. "Now class, this is the first mistake made by the leaders of our pasts. Everyone is not equal. Back then they were referring to those of different colour to them but the principal is the same to the current state of present day."

I roll my eyes and tap my pencil irritablely on my desk. We go through this every week in such excruciating detail I want to put an arrow through my brain.

Delly sticks her hand up and waves it excitedly.

"Yes Miss. Cartwright?" the teacher-I never bother to learn new names, there's a new sub nearly every week-asks. She has a toothy grin that shows off all her pearly white teeth so I christen her tooth face.

"Back then they judged colour?" Delly enquires.

"Oh yes, they thought it was the colour of someone's skin that seperated those who were equal and those who were not," tooth face answers.

"But that's ridiculous!"

"I know, we were very naive in the past. We were looking at the wrong people," tooth face explains. "We looked at colour when we should have looked at gender." She turns a page in the textbook and skim reads the next one, leaving us to ponder what she just said.

I stick my hand up and ask the same question I always do. "Why though? Why gender?" This question has gotten me stuck for years. Ever since I was a child and first saw one of those poor people chained up like an animal.

"Because women are greater," tooth face states as if obvious. "We did the work for those . . . _men_ for centuries. We worked for them and were unfairly degraded. We still suffer today when there's justice in the world! We still suffer periods and pregnancies! Don't you think it's fair that we make them suffer like us?" Everyone looks at me expectantly, waiting for my answer. To watch me answer like everyone else does. But I don't. I never answer like they do. And that's what makes it fun for them to witness it.

"No," I say stubbornly. "It's not."

"What?" Tooth face's smile falters.

"No," I repeat. "It's not."

"That's enough Katniss! I heard you the first time!" Tooth face yells. "After school dentention for straight out defiance!"

Don't think that's harsh, I've had worse. My name's Katniss Everdeen and I live in a world of injustice. I live in a world were if your beliefs don't match everyone else's then there must be something wrong with you. I live in a world were you get punished for speaking your mind and voicing your thoughts. I live in a world were slavery is a popular fashion. Don't have one? Your going to get shunned. My family don't have a slave, but no-one must know that. You can get fined for that.

This world is a country called Panem run by the infamous President Coin. I'am located in District 5. About five districts from the main city, the Capitol. All 12 districts aren't the same in any way apart from in one detail: Slaves. Not just any slaves. Male slaves.

"I'm just telling you the truth," I tell tooth face. "But fine, whatever."

"One thing you must understand class is that the male species are scum. Scum that should be wiped from the face of the planet if only they weren't nessecary for the continuation of our existance," tooth face explains. "Miss. Everdeen is _wrong._ Everything we do is right. Everything we believe in is fair. The country's current political sitaution is fair and right and the way it should have been long, long ago."

I rub my temples and stare out the window at the dark, overcast skies. I haven't seen clear blue in the sky in years. A dark cloud hangs over the district because of our electricity and power plants. We have the biggest electricity bills in all of Panem. I start to regret speaking out in class because I'm going to have to listen to this lecture again after school. I've heard it so many times now I nearly know it off by heart. I wish it would be so easy that a given lecture could change my mind and beliefs but it can't.

I don't like the idea of slavery. As a child, I didn't question it because I thought it was just the way the world was, but when I was nine years old I saw a ten year old boy beaten up just for falling over while carrying a woman's shopping and I haven't felt the same about it since. It's been the way the world has been for over a hundred years now but I can't help but wonder how it happened. Who could have such an absurd and cruel mind as to think that something as horrific as slavery would be OK? A part of me hopes to never find out but another wishes to know because then I could at least understand why.

My mother never took a slave and that has put us in danger of being fined a huge amount of money in which we can't afford. No-one in my family has the heart to take one so we've been pretending we have one for over ten years now, when my mother's childhood slave passed away.

What always gets me thinking is, why? Why can't we just be equal again like all those years ago? Why does anyone have to suffer?

Why do we have to be so cruel?

~xXx~

"I called your mother."

I lift my head from the textbook tooth face-who I discovered is called Miss. Paylor-gave me to read over in detention and frown at her. "Why?" Hostility is smeared all over my tone but I don't correct myself for being so rude.

"This has been happening too much Katniss," Miss. Paylor says. "I'm going to discuss sending you to live with your aunt in District 12 with her."

"What?!" I yell, standing up and sending my chair flying backwards. She's a history teacher! She can't do that!

"You aunt is a visionary Katniss, she'd be good for you," Miss. Paylor says gently. "Maybe rub off on you a bit."

"Rub off on . . . your crazy!" I snap. There's a knock on the door and my mother comes in with my little sister Prim in close tow.

"Ah Mrs. Everdeen, I'm glad you could make it!" Miss. Paylor says. "Sit down Katniss." When I don't sit down she glares and repeats through clenched teeth, "Sit. Down. Katniss." I grumble and sit down, tugging my seat in close to the desk and slouching.

"Is everything alright?" Mother asks weakly.

"I'd like to talk to you about your daughter," Miss. Paylor says. Prim walks around mother and sits beside me with a look on her face that asks, _'What did you do now Katniss?'_ I shrug to her in reply to the expression.

"Yes?" Mother asks.

"As you know your daughter has rather . . . _unique_ opinions on the econmy's current position and she's been very vocal about it," Miss. Paylor explains. "Well, I thought that maybe relocating her to live with your sister in District 12 might do her some good." Prim gasps and clamps her hands over her mouth in horror.

"Why?" Mother frowns, wringing her hands nervously. She never goes out in public unless nessecary and she gets skiddish when she's out.

"Miss. Trinket is a marvellous woman Mrs. Everdeen!" Paylor replies. "I think she'd rub off on your daughter in a big way. Get her back on the right track and show her what's right to believe in the world."

Mother looks and me tilts her head, her icy blue eyes almost looking through me. "Maybe it would."

"What?!" I exclaims. "Mother your not serious!"

"Mom!" Prim exclaims as well. "Please don't send her away!"

"My sister would make a good mentor," Mother muses. "And she loves having company." Am I really hearing this or have I wax in my ears or something? Is she crazy?!

"Well it's settled then!" Paylor says. "I'm sure you can arrange a train for your daughter soon enough." Oh my god I'm going to kill this woman. How dare she go niggling in my private life and suggesting I move away!

"Yeah," Mother whispers. "I can."

~xXx~

Once we're home the yelling begins.

"Mom what the hell is wrong with you!?" I scream. "I don't want to move in with Aunt Effie!"

"It's on your own head Katniss," Mother says as she stiffly sits down on the sofa. "You should have shut your mouth!" Prim runs over to her and takes her hands in hers.

"Mom please don't send her away!" she begs. "She was just voicing her opinion! We're all on the same page here in the econmy's situation."

"But she shouldn't have been so stupid as to be so vocal about it," Mother answers. "It's happening too often, she's putting us all at risk. They could come and search the house, find we don't have a slave and then where would we be?

"I'm not going to Aunt Effie's," I state, folding my arms.

"You will," Mother replies. "I'm not having you put us in danger anymore."

"All I said was no!" I say. "I just disagreed with her!"

"The subject's closed Katniss," Mother says. "Your going and that's that." Prim sighs and rests her forehead on their clasped hands, her shoulders shaking as she cries.

I guess the injustice of the world doesn't just stick with the Slavery of Males.

~xXx~

_**2 days later:**_

"I'm going to miss you little duck," I whisper as I hug my sister at the train station.

"I'll miss you too Katniss," she replies, hugging me tighter. "This is so unfair." I let go of her and stand up straight.

"Blame mom," I state. Mother stands beside Prim, her face stoic and her body stiff. She looks right through me, as if looking at the train that sits behind me, not even realizing I piled the blame on her. I glare at her before grabbing my bags and lugging them to the train. Half-way there I frown and turn back round. "Hey mom, does Effie have a slave?" I ask. Prim nudges mother to get her attention and repeats the question when she looks at her in confusion.

"Yes," Mother answers, looking back at me as she does so. "Her childhood one died just last week but she's got a new one now. That's my only regret of sending you over there. You'll have to live with one."

"Do you know his name?" I ask.

Mother frowns and bites the inside of her cheek. "I think his name's Peter," she says. "I honestly don't know . . . no wait, it's Peeta. Yeah, that's it."

I snort and shake my head. "That's not a name mom. I think your losing you head again. It's probably Peter." HA! Who'd name their kid Peeta? That's just cruel. Get him beat up for being a bread boy! I smile at the thought of a bread boy and shake my head to get the silly thought out. There's no room for silly thoughts now because it wastes time and precious brain space. Waving goodbye to my mother and Prim, I get into the train to District 12, hoping to get the trip over and done with and to be able to get back home.

Little did I know, I'd never return to District 5 again.

**A/N: So, it's a bit different. I hope you'll still think it's OK though. I hope I'll see all of my regular reviewers of Chained Hearts ^-^**

**Please R&R :)**


	2. Sorry!

**A/N: I'm so sorry guys! I posted the wrong content on chapter one for the story! I posted the one for my Cato/Peeta fic 'Torn Between' but I've replaced the content so please check it out!**

**Brillant start on the re-write Cupcake(!) **

**Sorry guys, my mistake :/**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey guys, I apologize again for the mistake, but here's chapter two so forigve me? :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing :D**

Chapter Two

District 12 is the poorest district in Panem. Even though it's not surrounded with poverty and people aren't starving or ill, the district isn't as well off as others. The other Districts call the residents the Poor of Panem. I still don't understand why. Maybe going there would help me understand. I've never met her but I do I know that my Aunt Effie runs an Etiquette School in the District. Maybe she'll end up sending me there. I'm sure it wouldn't be that hard to escape from an old school of polite spinsters. I could escape and catch a train back home, tell Miss. Paylor Effie sent me home. Yeah, I like that idea.

As I get off the train lugged with bags I take in my surroundings. The station is pretty much deserted-no-one on the train were going here, most of them were onboard to go to districts 6-9. 10-12 aren't as popular with tourists and visitors because they aren't as fun and have no attractions whatsoever.

"Katniss!" An ear shattering shrill of a voice squeals. I whirl round as a woman in a spring green suit with six inch heels and who's blonde wig is bouncing wildly, in danger of falling off, barrels towards me. Is this my _aunt?!_ The crazy woman in green batters me in a fierce hug, making me drop my bags in shock. God this is awkward, I hope she is my aunt and not some deranged mental patient escaped from an asluym.

"Aunt Effie?" I ask somewhat nervously.

"Katniss!" the woman cries in delight as she pulls away from the hug. "I'm so happy your here! Yes! I'm Aunt Effie! Please, just call me Effie. 'Aunt' makes me sound so old don't you think?"

"Uh-"

"Oh how rude of me! I should introduce myself properly. My name's Effie Trinket of 12 and I'm going to whip you into shape my dear!" Effie twitters cheerfully.

"Whip me into shape?" I frown, slightly overwhelmed.

"Your mother has explained everything to me dear, and I'm so sorry," Effie sighs dramatically. She's acting like I've got some self inflicted disease or something. "And I'm going to clear your thoughts so the truth will be crystal." Truth? I _know_ what the truth is, that's the problem! "Come on, we better get off this filthly platform before we catch something!" _Like what?!_

I sigh and bend down to pick my bags up when my hands are slapped away by Effie. "Rule number one: Never do anything for yourself," she grins.

"Who does it for me then?" I ask, looking around the platform and seeing no-one; just the dusty station to my left.

"The slave obviously," Effie answers. Her eyes widen and she gasps. "I'm sorry, that was rude. It's probably not obvious to you, poor thing." I'm starting to feel like an incompetant five year old who can't tell right from wrong and it's very frustrating.

"There's no-one here," I reply, trying to keep the venom out of my tone-very nearly failing.

"Of course!" Effie exclaims. "I forgot, he's watching the car."

"Who?"

"The Slave of course," Effie smiles before shrieking, "Peeta! Get over here now!" I rub my ears after the shrill shriek cuts through them. I wonder how many decibals her yell could reach all at once?

A blonde head suddenly pops round the station wall at the end of the platform, probably checking they're at the right one, before coming fully around and approaching us. Before they even reach us the first thing that strikes me about them is the clear blue of their eyes. They have an almost luminous glow to them that both terrifys and fascinates me. I feel myself stiffen as they come closer and I realize who they are: It's Effie's slave. I chastise myself for being so naive and not realizing sooner who it was. When he reaches us he doesn't speak; he just stands beside Effie and looks at her expectantly, probably awaiting an order.

"Katniss this is my-and now your-slave. Responds to the name of Peeta-" hold on, my mother was _right?!_"-and will do whatever you wish. _Whatever_ you wish." Did she just wink at me?

When I look at Peeta the Slave I start slightly when I notice he's looking at me; head tilted slightly, face devoud of emotion, deep blue eyes boring into my dull grey ones. I feel almost naked under the scrutiny- even though I'm dressed in layers to brace the cold weather of tweleve- making me shift uncomfortably on the spot.

Effie slaps him lightly on the cheek and snaps, "Staring's rude!" Even though it was a light slap, I'm shocked at the action for something as simple as staring. When I turn back to look at him again he's no longer looking at me, his eyes are directed to the ground, causing me to feel almost sorry for him. I dimiss the feeling though because I can't sympathize with a slave if I have any hope of going home. "Carry Katniss' bags to the car," Effie instructs. Peeta the Slave nods and hauls my duffel bag over one shoulder and carries the other with his spare hand before heading off to the car park.

Effie and I follow a couple of metres behind, walking at a lesiruely pace. "My previous Slave passed away last week of some infection or something or other," Effie explains. "But I got this one for a right old price. It was a bargain! Half off the orginal price and yet just as obidient and compliant as any other ordinary slave!" I scowl at the ground at the way Effie speaks of the slave, as if he's some item she found at a jumble sale. "I have to say it's the best I've had in my 30 years. Does everything I ask when I ask and doesn't speak unless asked to."

"You don't let him speak?" I ask, my eyes flicking up to the back of the blonde servant as he walks ahead, carrying my bags as if there's nothing in them.

"There's no reason for it," Effie replies. "There are occasions when I tell him he can speak but it's a rarity." I wonder what it's like, having to be so silent, never being able to use your voice unless given permission. I doubt it would work for me, I can't keep silent even if my life depended on it. "He'll do anything for you, all you have to do is ask. Whether it's tidying your room, washing your clothes, meeting your sexual needs-"

I choke on my own spit at this and stumble on a rock. "What?!" I rasp.

"Oh, isn't that so sweet?" Effie smiles, holding a hand to her chest. "So pure, it's so sweet."

"Excuse me?" I exclaim. Effie slings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close as we walk before explaining.

"You ever need a release, just ask. It's one of the main requirements of a slave: Must be able to please and pleasure," she says. My eyes widen at what's she's implying and I almost trip again.

"I think I'll be alright Effie," I reply weakly.

"The oppurtunity is always there," Effie smiles. I study her beaming face for a moment and put two and two together in my mind.

"Have you ever . . . ?" I ask, trailing off, unable to say the actual words. Effie understands what I'm asking and nods.

"Yes, of course," she answers. "I'm a grown woman Katniss. I have needs too." My mouth falls open but she soon taps it closed. "You'll catch flies honey," she says.

We head into the car park and I notice that it's nearly as deserted as the station itself. Only three cars sit in the park; a blue station wagon, a black BMW and a lumionous pink mini with eyelashes on the front lights. I internally groan when I see Peeta the Slave putting my bags into the boot of the mini. I'm going to have to travel in _that?_

"What do you think?" Effie grins as Peeta the Slave holds the door open for her to get in.

Uh . . . tacky, horrific, the stuff of _nightmares?_

"It's very unique," I answer, rolling my eyes and wishing the whole ordeal was over already.

~xXx~

My room isn't too big: a small box room with cream coloured walls and a single bed pushed horziontally against the right wall with a small biege wardrobe wedged in at the bottom. It's still like a palace to me though as back in 5 I had to share an average sized room with Prim.

I don't unpack; Effie says the Slave will do it tomorrow when I'm settled in and touring the District to see the 'sights', so I spent most of my first day in District 12 lying on a bed, staring at the ceiling and silently wishing this could all be over and I could go home.

It was around midnight when I hear it. I'm lying under the covers of the bed, trying in vain to get some sleep when I hear what sounds like a soft moan directly below me. I sit up in the bed, still wrapped up in the covers and listen out for it again. The small noise returns about twenty seconds later and I pull the covers tighter around my body. I work through the structure of Effie's house and figure out that directly below me is the back living room. Why such sounds would come from a living room I don't know but I'm positive I don't want to find out.

I shudder in realization of what's happening downstairs and I throw the covers over my head, jumping back into a lying postion on the bed and shivering. If Effie is a woman of manners, how is tending to her 'needs' in the room directly below her 'guest' polite in any way? Maybe she thinks I'm asleep . . . or deaf.

I think of the blonde boy who carried my bags for me without complaint and didn't speak at all in the presence of us and whose downstairs right now with my . . . _aunt._ The shining blue eyes come back into my mind and all my other thoughts stop aburtly. After-how old is he I wonder? He looked about my age-years of being a tortured slave you'd think such beauty wouldn't exist in those eyes, or at least be tarnished by years of abuse, and yet there is still such wonder in them.

Mentally scolding myself, I turn around in bed and snuggle closer into the pillow. I don't have time for such thoughts. Such thoughts are the type of thoughts I've avoided all my life and still intend to avoid in the foreseeable future.

Plus if I want to get back to District 5, all Peeta the Slave can be is exactly that.

Peeta the Slave.

**A/N: How's that? Please let me know how you think the re-write's going! ^_^**

**Peace out! :D**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's chapter three, sorry it took so long ^^***

**Thanks to all my reviewers for your support!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Chapter Three

_"Daddy, why do we hide down here?" I ask in a hushed voice, my knees curled up to my chest. Prim sits beside me, only a toddler, and plays with my braid mindlessly. It's dark down here, in the room under my house. Water drips from the ceiling and there's a consistant damp smell. _

_"Because this is where daddy lives," Dad replies with a tired smile._

_"Why can't you live upstairs with mommy and us?" I question, prying Prim's hand off my hair when she starts to pull._

_"All daddies live under their family's houses," Dad answers. "The women would get angry if they didn't."_

_"Why women get angry?" Prim frowns, her curious blue eyes wide._

_The cellar door opens, light streaming into the room and exposing the three of us. Mother quickly hurries in and shuts the door, quickly coming down the stairs and kneeling beside Prim and me. "I'm sorry, we can only risk another few minutes Damien," she whispers to dad._

_"'Dis daddy's house?" Prim asks innocently, tugging on mum's sleeve and sticking her fist into her mouth. Mother smiles and pulls Prim into her lap, kissing the top of her blonde head gently._

_"Yes sweetie, this is daddy's house," Mother coos. Dad smiles and holds his finger infront of Prim's face, which she immediately grabs hold of and shoves into her mouth with her fist._

_"Why women get angry mommy?" Prim asks, her voice gurgling due to the finger and fist in her mouth._

_"Why do they not want Daddy to live with us Mommy?" I ask. _

_"It's complicated honey," Mother answers. "You'll understand when your older."_

_"I'm seven!" I protest._

_"A bit older than that sweetheart," Dad says._

_"We're going to have to go Damien," Mother whispers. "I'm sorry." Dad sighs sadly and nods._

_"OK Rose, come on guys, group hug," Dad smiles. We all crowd together for a group hug and hold onto each other tightly. Back then Prim and I still don't understand. We still believe that the cellar was where our Dad lived. We didn't know the truth. _

_Dad kisses Prim's forehead and Mother's lips. Mother stands up with Prim on her hip and says, "I love you Damien."_

_"I love you too Rose," he replies, a ghost of a smile crossing his face as they leave._

_"Bye Daddy!" Prim calls, waving her chubby hand. "Love you!"_

_"Love you too baby," Dad calls back, blowing her a kiss. I sit on the dusty ground beside him and pout._

_"I don't want to leave daddy," I whine, throwing my arms back over his neck and holding tight._

_"I know sweetheart, I know," Dad replies, hugging me back tightly._

_"I want you to live with us," I whimper. _

_Dad pulls away from the hug and says, "I'll always be with you Katniss, no matter where you are or what your doing. Right here." He presses his palm against my chest where my heart is and I grab his hand with my own._

_"Here?" I ask._

_"Yes my little song bird, right here," Dad confirms, kissing my nose. "Right here."_

~xXx~

"Right here," I murmer, holding my hand against the same spot on my chest as I sit on my bed the next morning. My father was a slave, my mother's slave actually. My grandmother gave him to my mother as a sixteenth birthday present, thinking it was the best gift to ever bestow on a granddaughter (which most women do) but what she didn't count on was them falling secretly in love. It was very easy to keep their love secret-no-one was shocked when she got pregnant with me, you're expected to have at least one child to keep the population of Panem high-and the only people who ever knew about it was my parents, and eventually, Prim and I.

My dad died when I was eleven. Prim was only seven; she barely remembers him. I guess he has a vague settlement in my mind as well since he spent most of his time down in the cellar. Mother never explained the reason for his long days and nights down in the dark, dank cellar of our house until I was fifteen. In being her slave, the only reason he'd be allowed into the main part of the house would be if he was completing a task given by mother. My mother refused to ever order him about, so he spent most of his days downstairs. It was too dangerous having him upstairs doing nothing, incase someone visited or something, and that's why he housed in the cellar.

Of course when I was a child I knew about the male slaves, but I never took a moment to consider the fact that my _dad_ was one. I mean, he was my dad. The idea of him being a slave was just ridiculous. But he was one, and that's why Prim and I barely knew him.

I guess that was my pivotal moment when I finally decided where I stood on male slavery. I loved my dad and never wanted him to leave us. But he did, he was killed for the pettiest of reasons. When I discovered he was a slave I decided that it was wrong. It was unfair. It was unjustified.

This fact causes me to feel uncomfortable around slaves because I don't understand them. Anything I don't understand is a grey area; I avoid them as much as possible because I fear the unknown. What lies behind the blank faces of those who serve us? Did they have a family? Brothers? Sisters? Parents? A life they could live if there wasn't this silly rule of dominance?

I walk down the stairs to the kitchen where I find Effie sitting at the kitchen table, talking on her mobile to someone. "I know, isn't it just wonderful?" she trills. "Hazelle finally got a little girl. I'm so happy for her! Fourth time lucky hmm?" She spots me and holds her finger up in a wait gesture. I stand by the table, unsure on whether to sit uninvited or not. "I'll be round later to see the wee bird. What's her name?" A pause. "Oh Posy! That's lovely! See you later Octavia. OK, bye. Please, sit down Katniss, make yourself at home!" I sit on the seat across from her, crossing my leg over my knee but immediately regretting it as it feels so uncomfortable but not wanting to move it since it'd look silly.

"Who was that?" I ask.

"Just a friend of mine Octavia. She was just telling me about how our friend Hazelle just had a little baby girl last night," Effie explains. "She's been cursed with three sons for so long so it's a miracle she's finally gotten a little girl."

"Is her slave the father?" I question.

"Uh-huh," Effie replies. "She's a lucky one, she has two slaves."

"Really?"

"Yes. The recepitant of the four children, and one of the boys she carried," Effie says. "She was lucky to get one of her own back as a slave, many of us never see our boys ever again, thank the heavens."

"You said she had three sons," I reply.

"Yes, but two of them are two young to be sold yet. I suppose she'll never see them two again. Luck only runs so deep when it comes to buying our slaves," Effie says. "It's very likely the other two are still in slave training."

Slave training is a compound in the main city of Panem, The Capitol, where baby boys are sent once they're born to be trained and conditioned to be the 'perfect servers.' I don't know why, but judging by the way they are treated when bought by the women, I'd say that these compounds are more like concentration camps than anything else. To me, anything we are taught at school has something deeper to it. Something they're not telling us. Like what happens behind the doors of the Slave training compound to those children. Of course, when I asked Miss. Paylor this question I was given an afterschool detention for my troubles.

"I must go see the baby!" Effie trills. "Are you alright being here on your own?"

"Yeah," I answer flatly. Home alone? Pff, no problem.

"Sure you won't be completely alone. Peeta's in the basement if you need anything," says Effie, getting up and heading for the door. She stops once through the kitchen threshold and backs up a moment. "I must apologize by the way."

I turn in my seat and frown at her. "Why?" I ask.

"I did something horrific and inexcusable last night," sighs Effie. "I rudely tended to my needs last night. I shouldn't have done so since I had a guest but I did and I'm sorry for being so rude."

"Oh . . ." I say, narrowing my eyes at her. "No problem. I was pretty much asleep by then anyway." Better lying than admitting that I heard her.

"I really should get a quieter vibrator," Effie says. "I need to get on that."

"Vibrator?" I frown. "Aren't you supposed to use a slave for that . . . sort . . . of . . . thing?"

"Normally yes," Effie answers. "But it's bad etiquette. My old slave was fine, I lived alone and didn't share him with anyone. Now you're here, it's unhygieniec for members of the same family to have intercourse with the same slave. So, for the purpose of your education, I'm using basic sex toys and saving the real stuff for you."

For me? Oh, how thoughtful! Is this what being kind is like for the women of the world? Oh no, it's alright, I'm being kind, I'll hold back and let you give your innocence away to the complete stranger you just met yesterday. Oh, really? Can I?! Urgh.

"Uh . . . thanks?" I say, not really sure on what else to say.

"Your welcome, anything to make you a better person," Effie smiles. Before she leaves I frown and call her back. "Yes dear?" she asks.

"What's a vibrator?"

"All in good time," replies Effie. On that note she leaves.

I sit on the kitchen chair dumbly, unsure of what to do. Maybe I should go outside and tour the District? I don't know, something about the idea makes me uncomfortable. District 12 is kind of small. I bet everyone knows each other here some way or another. I'd stick out like a sore thumb, unknown and strange.

A newspaper sits on the table and I pick it up and read the headline.

_**Update on Cresta situation**_

I examine the headline carefully and, wondering what the story is, I read it.

_**Last week Annie Cresta of 12 was reported for emotional compostion with her former slave Finnick Odair. We know you've all be patiently waiting for the update of what was going to be done about this atrocity and we're finally able to give you the news. Such a disgraceful act cannot be allowed to continue unpunished so at the end of the week Finnick will be publicy excuted for leading one of our own astray. Come along and witness the event, cheering for the right of our comendment and the right to free will of women.**_

My face contorts in disgust and I chuck the paper away. That poor woman. Emotional Composition is the term used for basically falling in love. It's a phrase normally spoken out with a tone of disdain and pity. I wonder how Annie is coping with somethig so horrific? Can't be well. The man is loves is being executed at the end of the week. Publicly. And they're treating it like an event of celebration.

I rub my temples and grunt. I hate this, I really do. How am I going to adjust to these ways of life? It doesn't seem like something I can do. I go out the backyard for some air. Inhaling the fresh air I lean against the house and press my hand against my forehead. The backyard isn't much, there isn't even any grass. A washing line sits in the middle of the yard, folded in on it's self. Behind that is a garden green and mustard yellow shed in the shape of the house (I think it was once a play house) and beside that is a slimmer shed covered in stones with a burgandy door. My eyes trail a wooden fence along the side of the garden-about six feet in height-and give the feeling of being trapped in a prison.

As I'm examining a black pipe running up the house my eyes catch a set of wooden doors just below the kitchen window. They're slanted downwards and obviously lead to said basement. Looking at the doors, I approach them curiously, wondering what it's like down there. If Peeta the Slave spends his time down there like my father did when he's not completing a task, what does he do? Is it dark down there? Can he see? Is it cold? Damp? Dank?

As these thoughts fly through my head I realize my hand is reaching out towards the handle on the door. I quickly retract it, wondering what the hell I was thinking. What was I about to do? Open the doors and do what? Go in? What would that accomplish?

I take a step back and hurry back into the house, slamming the back door so hard the hollow walls shake. I sigh and slide down the back door.

_I want to go home._

**A/N: Once again, sorry for the long wait :)**

**Please R&R :D**


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey guys! Here's chapter four!**

**To the guest reviewer: I'm glad you're happy I used your idea about the ethics of family members using the same slave for sex, I used it because I realized you were completely right about the whole thing ^-^**

**To other guest: I've tried doing multiple POV for this story but it doesn't work out right. Sorry :/**

**Jade: Please be paitent. Your reviews are starting to scare me a bit.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Chapter Four

_"Deep in the meadow, under the willow, a bed of grass, a soft green pillow,"_ I sing as I perch on Effie's second balcony railing. It's a beautiful day and I've decided to absorb the heat without having to leave the front garden. _"Lay down your head and close your sleepy eyes, and when again it's morning the sun will rise."_ Singing comforts me, it reminds me of my father. He had an amazing voice, it's one of the few things I remember of him. The soft songs he'd sing to lull me to sleep when I refused to leave the cellar. _"Here it's safe, here it's warm, here the dasies guard you from every harm. Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true, here is the place where I love you."_

I sigh and look down below me and smile at the beautiful garden. The grass is bright green and multiple flower beds line the fence, glowing bright colours in the sunlight. District 5 isn't the most colourful of places due to polluntion ruining wildlife and nature. It's refreshing to be somewhere freshier and less stuffy than 5.

_"Deep in the meadow, hidden far away, a bed of leaves, a moonbeam ray,"_ I continue, smiling as a mockingjay lands beside me on the railing and tilts it's head to the side in silent question. _"Lay down your woes and let your troubles lay, and when again it's morning they'll wash away."_ I hold my finger out to the bird and it hops on, listening intently as I finish the song. _"Here it's safe, here it's warm, here the dasies guard you from every harm, here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true, here is the place where I love you."_ The mockingjay looks at me curiously for a moment before ruffling it's feathers and repeating the song. I smile and listen to it until it finishes and flies away.

I hop off the railing and lean my elbows on it, looking out at the clear blue sky and squinting at the bright sun. I follow the bird as it flies through the sky for a moment before swooping down to the ground and perching on the garden fence. I smile at it, thinking of my dad, when the voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

"Hello little guy," the voice says. I watch curiously as the bird chrips happily and flies towards someone I can't see. I lean over the railing to see who it is and nearly fall right off when I do. I never heard him speak, so I couldn't have recognized the voice if I'd tried, but for some reason I'm shocked by the knowledge that he _does_, indeed, speak.

Peeta the Slave comes round the side of the house with the mockingjay perched on his finger, smiling broadly and slowly stroking it. Effie had returned an hour previous and set him to work on tidying up the backyard before making another swift exit for a spa date with Octavia. "You're a beautiful bird, you know that?" the slave asks. The bird chirps cheerfully in response to the stroking and praise, repaying him by singing a song to him.

_My_ song.

When the mockingjay finishes for a second time it spreads it's wings as if taking a bow and Peeta the Slave chuckles at it. "Where did you learn such a lovely tune little songbird?" he asks. How could someone who looked so defeated just yesterday have such a radiant smile and joyful voice? As if understanding the question, the mockingjay flies off his finger and takes to the sky again, flying round in loops and gliding through the air. I watch it perform it's air show for a moment and so does Peeta the Slave, but as soon as the bird flies over to me and lands on my head I stiffen in fear. The mockingjay repeats a line of my song as if to say_, 'This is her! This is the girl who sung the song!' _

My eyes flick back down to the front garden in a panic and am met with a pair of deep blue eyes staring up at me. I'd have thought that he'd lose his emotion again-turn into that indifferent person I met at the train station-but he doesn't. A small smile graces his lips and I flush in embarassment. The only people who knew I could sing back home were my mother and Prim. No-one else. Why should anyone else know? It was none of their buisness. But know _he_ knows. This person who I've barely known or seen much of for twenty four hours but leaves me more confused than using letters in math does. This boy who's made me look into my past with my father more than I ever done before, making me think more about slavery and the rights of our people. Why did he make me do all this you ask? It was that damn mask of indifference he puts on when Effie or any other woman is around. A mask, I now realize, he isn't wearing when I'm around.

"Have you ever read Romeo and Juilet?" I ask randomly, shocking myself with such a weird question to open with. "This situation reminds me of the balcony scene. Even if I do look nothing like a beautiful fair maiden and I'm not called Juliet. And I know for sure your not called Romeo." Where is this coming from? I'm babbling like an idiot because I can't bear the awkward silence that stretched between just now. Those blue eyes give me an unsettled feeling, as if he's staring into my soul, and the silence just amplified the feeling. "I don't read a lot of Shakesphere, I mean, I've seen movies but I don't understand a lot of what he's saying. Miss. Paylor says I should read between the lines but I don't know what that means because there's no words or anything between . . . the . . . lines . . ." I trail off and bite my lip in embarassment. I bet he thinks I'm crazy or on drugs or something.

The round doe-like blue eyes continue to stare up at me, the smile still there on his face, and I wonder momentarily why he's being so silent if he seems happy enough with what I'm saying. That's when I realize he's not purposely being silent, he's waiting on me to tell him he can speak. For all he knows I could be testing him, trying to see if he'll break the rules or not by speaking without my expressed permission.

"You can talk you know," I say. "I mean, I'm not going to judge you, or punish you for speaking. Heck, you could probably open your mouth and start swearing at me and calling me names right here and now and I still wouldn't punish you." He doesn't answer me and I sigh, turning around on my heel and heading back to the window by the balcony, feeling stupid. I've just place my hand on the doorknob when I hear him.

_"'What light through yonder window breaks, it is the east, and Juliet is the sun.'"_

"Huh?" I frown, walking back over to the balcony edge and peering back over at him.

_"'What light through yonder window breaks, it is the east and Juliet is the sun. Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon'_?" Peeta the Slave says. "Romeo and Juliet? Act II, Scene II: Capulet's Orchard."

"Oh," I reply. "Yes. So you've read Shakesphere?"

Peeta the Slave shrugs. "You pick stuff up," he says vaguely. "I haven't actually sat down and read the book. You don't really have time for that sort of thing."

I nod and bite the inside of my cheek, wondering what to say next. To busy myself I pluck a dandelion out of a plant pot on the balcony railing. My heart's beating rapidly in a panic. Am I going to get in trouble for talking to him like this? Not giving any orders, just talking? The more I misbehave, the farther I'am from going back home. Damn it, I should think these things through more.

"Your song is beautiful."

"Huh?" I ask, snapping out of my silent panic.

"Sorry, that was inappropriate," Peeta the Slave says, shaking his head. "Never mind."

"No, what did you say?" I ask. "It's fine, you can say it."

"Your song, I said it's beautiful," says Peeta the Slave.

"Oh," I reply, suprised. "Thank you." No-one has ever heard that song other than the four members of my family. My father wrote it himself-his time spent down in the cellar wasn't wasted-designed to sing Prim and I to sleep when we were unsettled and refused to leave him.

"Mockingjays don't repeat just any old person's songs," says Peeta the Slave. "They have to like your voice and even then they're very particular with their choices. I'd be honoured if I were you Katniss." He remembers my name? I never thought he'd take the time to remember to remember my name. I mean, I know I remembered his but that was within reason. What reason does he have in taking the time to remember what I'm called? I open my mouth to reply but when I look back down there's no-one there, Peeta the Slave's vanished.

I frown, wondering where he's why he has just suddenly disappeared at such a strange point in the conversation, when I a giant blob of pink catches my eye and I see Effie's car heading towards the house. Once parked, Effie hops out with a plastic bag in her hand. As soon as she's in through the front gate she notices me and waves.

"Meet me in the living room Katniss!" she calls.

"Why?" I ask.

"I've got something for you!"

I sigh and go through the balcony doors and walk downstairs. Effie's already in the living room when I arrive. I watch her quizzically as she pulls a box out of the plastic bag. I frown at the box and ask, "What is it?"

"I'm going to teach you about a vibrator!" Effie beams.

By the look of the item in her hands, I have a feeling this is going to be either very painful or very awkward.

**A/N: Please R&R :D**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry the chapters are so short but I'm working on getting them longer. I still hope you enjoy them though! Here's chapter five! :D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own imagination.**

_**Dreams are written in italics.**_

Chapter Five

I walk out of the living room two hours later, mentally scarred for the rest of my life and holding the vibrator Effie bought me in my hands. The past two hours is going to be burned into my mind for the rest of my life. I'm supposed to stick _this_ thing in my . . . my . . ._ there!_ And it's supposed to be_ pleasurable?!_ Effie didn't make me do it during her explanation-thank the lord-but the whole concept of how violating yourself with this thing I'm holding can be fun and make you feel good eludes me.

I'm physically trembling once I reach my room and I hide the stupid thing in the bottom of my wardrobe. Thinking back on Effie's lesson on how the vibrations enhance stimulation I can't help but run questions throuh my mind that confuse me. Like, doesn't it hurt? I mean, you're basically sticking a thick, colourful stick fashioned to look like a male's personal place up into your intimate area. It's got to hurt right? _Right?_

The hot day has faded in the past two hours and clouds have began to fill the once bright blue sky. It's sort of comforting I guess. Reminds me of home. I mean, they aren't as dark and overcast as the clouds back in 5, they're just a light shade of grey that signals rain coming soon. A light shower maybe? Might do those flowers in the front garden some good.

I lie on my back on my bed, watching the window as specks of rain begin to hit the window pane and silently watch as more and more hits the glass and runs down in speedy rivulets. The soft patter of the rain hitting the window and the soft wind blowing soothes me and calms me somewhat after the distrubing discussion of pleasurable dynamics of the modern age with Effie Trinket that I somehow find myself falling asleep.

My eyes have only drooped closed for five minutes when I hear the back door open-the hollow walls of the old house shaking with the opening and closing of the door-and muffled yells. I'm too drowsy to register the fact that the voice is angry and I'm almost alseep again when a loud _smack _wakes me up fully. I bolt up on the bed, sitting upright and looking out the window at the grey skies. What the heck was that? I crawl to the end of the bed and sit still, waiting for it to come again. When it does it come again it makes me start and I bite the inside of my cheek.

Back when I was little, I remember hearing a noise like that in the square once. I was only ten and I was searching the market area for a birthday present for Prim. I didn't have a lot of money but I did have some old nick nacks I could trade for something valuable. I was just trading an old paper weight for a blue ribbon when I heard the slap ring out across the square. Everyone else carried on as normal but I searched frantically for the source of the noise. A woman by the butcher's stall slapped her slave right across the cheek just because she couldn't afford an extra pound of beef and needed to let out her frustration on something. Well, in this case, someone. The sound was so harsh that it made my stomach churn and I couldn't help but gasp. Thank god nobody heard it because even showing sympathy for a slave can be hazardous.

The door slams shut again and I wait a moment before risking venturing to the window to see what the commotion was about. The rain is heavier than I had predicted, showering down in relentless sheets of very likely ice cold water. I squint and it takes me a moment to see through the rain. After a couple of seconds I can make out a blob of yellow through the dull grey of the backyard.

It's Peeta the Slave.

I watch curiously as he crouches down on the wet ground and starts picking up pieces of a broken plant pot. A shiver runs down my spine when I see how his hair matts to his head and his clothes cling to his body because of the rain. He doesn't even have a jacket to put on. I wonder if Effie's old slave died of pnuemonia. As he stands up with the pot shards in his hands I notice the dark pink mark set deep into his left cheek. It's not the product of a slap because there's no hand print. Effie must have hit him with something. Very probably because the plant pot is somehow broken.

There's a deep pang in my stomach and I can't help feeling sorry for him. I know I shouldn't, but I do. I can't stand being out in the rain for more than five minutes because of my clothes getting heavy and my leather boots getting sodden. Who knows how long he'll be out there for, the only reprieve being going into the dark cellar soaking wet and resting in the lonely darkness. Unable to stand looking at the sad sight below me, I close the curtains, blocking the image away.

"Katniss?" Effie calls up the stairs, her voice echoing ominiously up the hall just as a cold draft creeps up my spine, making me shiver.

"Yeah?" I call back, exiting the room and looking over the stairs at her. Thinking of what she just done, I avoid looking her in the eye because I doubt I'd be able to handle it.

"Tomorrow lessons begin." Hold on, the whole vibrator thing _wasn't_ lessons? That's worrying. "I've hired you a private tutor, Johanna Mason. She's the best in the buisness."

"Why can't I just go to public school?" I ask.

"Because they're more advanced. They understand the ethics of the country whereas you don't. That's what Madam Mason is for," Effie explains.

"Uh . . . OK?" I frown.

"Get some rest, it'll be much needed. Tomorrow is a big, big, big day!" Effie trills before disappearing off to the living room. I return to my room and find myself automatically going back to the window and peering round the curtains. Peeta the Slave is no longer in the backyard. Feeling a strange pang of disappointment that I don't understand causes me to back away from the window and climb into bed. Something at the back of my head keeps telling me that I'm heading toward something hazardous but I can't make sense of the statement so I push the thought away.

I close my eyes and force myself to get some sleep.

~xXx~

_It's cold. Rain falls down my back and soaks through the fabric of my clothes, chilling me to the bone. I can't go home. All I'll see at home is my frail sister, her eyes full of the same hope she has everyday: the hope I'll come back with something to eat, and the blank face of my mother. I can't face the disappointment anymore._

_Trailing behind the shops that line the streets, I check every dustbin I can. The feeling of failure only grows as I realize that the bins have been emptied. This fact doesn't stop me from checking them all though. Maybe there's some scraps at the bottom that have been missed?_

_I think it's the back of the bakery I reach when I get caught. A woman appears out of the back of the building and starts screaming at me to clear off before she calls the authorities and how she's so tired of stupid brats pawing through her rubbish. The ugly words felt like hard blows that stung me so I ran away quickly, slipping and sliding in the wet mud of the alley behind the shops. _

_The bakery was a big building at the end of the street so when I turned the corner out onto the main street, I was standing in the side yard where they kept their pigs. A vague thought passes through my mind of why a bakery would need pigs but is soon dismissed as I collapse because of the burden of carrying my own weight. I lean my back against an apple tree that sits in the yard and close my eyes. A perfect place to die. By an old apple tree in the dirt and rain. Just like all the others who die of starvation._

_A loud scream and the sound of a hard blow makes my eyes snap open. The back door opens and light streams out of the house as a boy hurries outside with two burnt loaves in his arms. The woman stands in the doorway screaming at him._

_"Feed them to the pigs you worthless creature!" she roars. "That is it! You're going back to the Capitol! You can rot in that training center for all I care!" _

_The bell at the front of the shop makes the woman leave and watch as she slams the door, making me jump slightly because of the loud noise. My eyes scan the boy as he stands by the pig pen. A dark bruise is growing underneath his eye, joining many of the others that seem to litter his skin. I still don't have much knowledge on the slaves of the country but I do know that physical abuse is not uncommon. The rain matts the boys hair and drips off the long curls that hang over his eyes and, even though the rain makes it hard to be able to tell or not, I could swear he's crying._

_Feeling my body giving into fatigue again, I slump further against the tree and feel my eyes drooping closed. My ears pick up the sound of feet sloshing through the water, getting closer to me and it crosses my mind that the woman has returned to drive me away with a stick or something. Instead, when I force my eyes open again, I see the boy standing a couple of metres away from me. He doesn't actknowledge my presence as he throws one loaf of bread at me, the other soon following. My mouth drops open in shock as the bread lands at my feet and the boy runs back to the bakery._

_He does look at me once though, once standing in the threshold of the bakery he looks back at me to make sure I've noticed the food he tossed, and his round, bright blue eyes stare right at me and he nods towards the loaves on the ground by my feet and goes back inside, closing the door more softly than the woman._

_The bread lasted my family a whole week and after that I learnt to hunt and defend for Prim and my mother to keep us fed. All because of that boy._

_I never see the boy again, and when I drop by the bakery to trade some strawberries with the baker's assitant, I notice someone different is working as a slave there. I used to spend hours wondering where the blonde boy with those magical blue eyes went to until . . ._

_One day, I forgot._

**A/N: Once again, sorry it's so short, but hey, review anyway? I love to hear what you think :)**


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hi guys, here's a semi-longer chapter for you! Sorry it took so long, I've been busy with my other fics and stuff :/**

**Hey, if fanfics about equality is your sort of thing, then maybe you could check out my new fic 'Home'? I'm not really into self advertising but I've got high hopes for this one but am not getting a lot of feedback. It's about gay rights and how the choices of others can effect a whole family.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Chapter Seven

"So you're Katniss then?" The short haired woman immediately asks as soon as I set foot in the dining room.

"Yeah," I answer, approaching the table the woman is leaning against catiously. "Are you Johanna Mason? My . . . ah . . . tutor?"

"You bet your ass I'am," the woman says. "Johanna Mason is the name, whipping imps like you into shape is my game. Please, sit." I pull out a chair from under the table and sit down on it, watching the woman closely as I do so. "So your Aunt tells me that you are incapable of comprehending the country's current state of law?"

"That's right," I reply, folding my arms tightly and resting them on the table.

"Well I've been called to fix that," Johanna says. "Let me guess, your main question is why?" I quirk an eyebrow in confusion and nod my head. How could she possibly know that? "It's one of the most common questions that people in your situation ask. 'Why treat them like this?', 'Why do you think it fair?', 'Why can't we all just be equals!'" All of those questions have passed through my mind at least once over the years.

"But . . . why?" I ask with a confused frown.

"The main basis of the laws of the country now is that there has never been equality since the beginning of time. Women were bestowed the labours of life: pregnancy, hardship, aches and pains, expectancy to serve while men sat on their fat asses doing nothing," Johanna says bluntly. "In the 20th century during the decade known as the 1950's women did everything: cooking, cleaning, looking after the man and their children. Well, now we're in a smarter age, an age were men get what they deserve and are treated the way they should be."

"But . . . in doing this now . . . doesn't that just make us just like them?" I ask. The question causes Johanna to bark out a laugh.

"Just like them?!" she exclaims. "_Just like them?!_ We are _nothing_ like them OK?! It's saying stupid things like that that will get your ass slung in Capitol prison!"

"Excuse me?" I frown. Capitol Prison? The Capitol _has_ a prison?! Kids used to tell horror stories about a prison in the Capitol but I never believed them. Well they are called _horror_ stories for a reason. The stuff of horror and fiction, used to frighten children before they go to bed at night and give them nightmares.

"Oh yeah," Johanna says, her face taking on an omnious scary expression that makes a shiver jump down my spine. "Capitol Prison. Anyone who breaks the new world laws get slung in there. Have you heard of that Cresta woman?" I nod numbly in response, vaguely remembering the name from the news article I read in the newspaper. "As soon as she gives birth to her baby there's a cell in the ultimate hellhole with her name on it. Hopefully there will be more hope for her child."

"What if the baby's a boy?" I frown. "There's always a possiblity in that."

"Oh my god you're more a dickweed than I thought you'd be," Johanna huffs. "You _don't_ think like that. Especially vocally dumbass! A pregnant woman carries a girl up until the point proven wrong! This country is no longer oppressed with the idiocy of male domination and is now a free world! There is no 'what if's?' anymore. This is the way the world works now. Get it into your brain or you're not going to survive!" I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out so I close it again quickly. "Now get out of my sight. As far as I know there's no hope for you, but I'm not one to give up on a challenge. But to complete this challenge I'm going to need time. Now piss off so I can think."

Relieved to be dimissed, I leap off my chair and run for the hills. I stumble down the stairs and go outside for some air. I lean against the front door and take deep breaths to calm my nerves. _She's_ my tutor? She's barely any older than me and are teachers allowed to swear at their students? As far as I can tell anyway, everything that has came out of her mouth so far has been bullshit. I've learnt about the 1950's, and sure, it was a dark time for womankind, but I also read up on the future. There's been loads of powerful women from the 20th to 21st centuries. Probably further back as well! All these women, I realize, are turning the 22nd century into the dark ages again. When power and dominance is something of importance. What happened equality? What about the famous words of Martin Luther King? Even if that was for the comparison of one skin colour to another the point still stands!

Am I truely stupid because I don't understand this? Am I blind to the truth or some imbucline who can't comprehend what fair is in modern times? Everything in my mind though is telling me that this is pure _crap!_ How does a few different body parts and ways of thinking change who's higher up in the ranks and who isn't? I just . . . _can't get it!_

"There must be something you're missing Katniss," I say to myself as I pace Effie's driveway. "Something that would explain all this and assemble it all to make some sense! Johanna is right, the question is why? Why enslave an entire race of people for a hundred years just to knock them off their high padestols? Why cause so much pain and heartbreak just to prove a _point?" _

"Power."

Once I reach the bottom of the driveway I spin round to the sound of someone's voice. Power? What does that mean? Power? My eyes scan the garden and fall upon the back of Peeta the Slave sitting by the flowerbeds, pulling up some weeds.

"What?" I frown.

"The answer to your questions: power," Peeta the Slave says, not even stopping his work or turning to look at me.

"Power," I repeat slowly as if tasting the word on my tongue.

"Yes, power," Peeta the Slave confirms. "Excuse me for speaking out of turn but if it assits you in your quest for truth I doubt you'd mind. The answer is so simple yet no-one sees it. Power."

"Care to elaborate?" I ask, walking across the grass to stand behind him. Even with my shadow looming over him, he doesn't stop working nor does he turn to face me.

"Everyone wants power," he states as if obvious. "There's always the little guy who's been knocked around all their life who wants to stand up from the herd and become the all powerful being. The dominant figure of that community that decides what and when something happens. Power seperates an individual from the rest of the group. It makes them feared and it therefore makes them powerful."

"I'm not sure I'm following your logic," I frown. Taking an uncertain glance to his left, Peeta the Slave sighs and stands up, a bunch of weeds in one hand and a trowel in the other.

"I shouldn't even be speaking to you, let alone telling you this," he states, moving away from me and heading up the garden. My eyes widen in shock and my mouth drops as he gets further and further away from me.

"Then why did you start?!" I call after him. He ignores me and keeps going. "Fine, leave baker boy," I mutter under my breath, folding my arms. A frown suddenly etches onto my face in confusion? Baker boy? Where did I get that from? This boy is Effie's slave, he ain't no baker. Something in recess of my mind though is telling me he is. But why?

"What did you call me?" Peeta the Slave asks. I look back up at him and start slightly as he stands facing me for the first time since we started talking. My eyes take in the dark bruise forming just above where the red mark sat on his face last night. Blonde strands of hair fall from his head and make a patheic attempt at covering the blemish. I wonder if he did that himself to avoid stares or his hair did it itself, naturally falling in waves like that.

I can't help but think of how it's the latter and how utterly beautiful it is.

"Baker Boy," I answer. "Why?"

"Look, I don't know what Effie told you about my past," Peeta the Slave hisses harshly, his change of demeanour making me jump. "Or about where she got me and there may be nothing I can do to stop you from calling me what you want when you want but know this: I'am not, and will never again be a Baker Boy. Got it?" He's inches away from me now and I look him in the eyes defiantly. I've obviously struck a nerve without even meaning to.

My brain unable to think of a way to respond to the outburst, I blurt out the first question that comes into my head. "What did she hit you with?"

"That's none of your buisness," he answers icily.

"It was obviously something hard if it made such a bruise," I insist.

"Again: None of your buisness," he replies.

"It is my buisness, you're mine now as well and I don't want my aunt going round turning you into damaged goods," I say, internally wincing at the harsh, possessive words. Peeta the Slave eyes me curiously, sizing me up and very probably wondering what my deal is.

"Bamboo cane," he finally says. I wince, thinking of the sting and burn a bamboo cane would cause with just a simple gentle slap and comparing it to the almightly whack Effie gave this poor soul last night. "What? Am I 'damaged goods' now?"

"No," I answer warbly. "Never. I'm sorry."

Looking completely taken aback at my words, Peeta the Slave frowns and asks, "What?"

"I'm sorry," I repeat. "For the damaged goods comment, for the bamboo cane, for _Effie._ Everything. I'am, from the bottom of my heart, sorry."

Bewilderment is written all over Peeta the Slave's voice as he absorbs what I've just said. I look around, suddenly worried that someone heard me, but the streets are empty. "No-one's ever said sorry to me before," Peeta the Slave says, his blue eyes suddenly looking saddened and overcome with grief.

"Then it's long overdue," I reply, stratching my head awkwardly. My eyes suddenly slide past him and look into the living room window that faces out into the garden to find Effie staring at us curiously with Johanna scowling by her side. "They're watching us," I whisper. Peeta the Slave stiffens and doesn't even try to look behind himself. "What do we do? We've been standing here too long for me to have been giving you an order."

Peeta the Slave sighs and gets down on his knees infront of me. "You're right," he says.

"What are you doing?!" I exclaim.

"Hit me," he whispers in response.

"What!?"

"Hit me Katniss," Peeta the Slave insists. "It's the only other plausiable explanation for us to be standing here like this. _Hit me."_

"I can't hit you!" I exclaim. "Don't make me hit you!"

"Just do it," he says, closing his eyes and wincing, waiting for the blow. "It's fine, I won't blame you for it."

My hand clenches by my side and I let out a suddering breath. He's right, the only other reason I'd be standing here with him so long was if I was telling him off for doing something wrong and was about it hit him. But I can't hit him! It's not right and is against everything I believe it!

The moment my hand makes contact with his face, a sting immediately sets into my hand and I wince, the loud crack of skin hitting skin echoing round the street. In that moment, a memory flashes into my mind from when I was a child and when my mother would hit us in a fit of rage. Throwing myself to my knees infront of him, I take his face in my hands and plant a kiss on his lips. From his and my side, it's an apology, from Effie and Johanna's side it's . . . ah . . . an expression of sexuality? I have no idea what they call it.

I trail the kisses up to his ear and whisper quietly, "I'm _so_ sorry," my voice wobbling with grief of having to degrade myself to the same level as Effie and the rest of the female population of the country.

"It's OK Katinss," he whispers back. "Nothing I'm not already used to."

I know, from his sorrowful tone of voice, that he's telling the truth.

**A/N: Sorry again that it took so long but I hope the Peeta/Katniss interaction made up for it!**

**Also, don't forget to check out the fic 'Home'! :)**

**Please R&R :D**


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Just to clear things up a bit, in case anyone's confused, Peeta doesn't remember Katniss just as much as she doesn't remember him from District 5 . . .**

**Or does he? **

**Hehe, sorry, I just had to ^_^**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Chapter Seven

I can't even look him in the eye anymore. After hitting Peeta the Slave and apologizing over and over again in hushed tones, I ran away. Not into the house, Effie and Johanna were both staring at me out the window, beaming at me as if I'd won the lottery. I ran out of the Seam and down a long, dusty track that seemed to have been unused for years. My hand still tingles and I can still hear the crack of the slap in my head.

I'am no longer any better than them. I'm just another woman. I hit him. I _slapped_ a slave. Everything I believed in, shattered into nothing. I've not even been here a week and I've already managed to destroy my core beliefs. Am I a hypicrite? Am I really just like them? I just needed the right push towards who I really am? A monster?

No. That isn't me. I don't care about who I'm expected to be or who other people want me to be. I'am Katniss Everdeen and I'm going to change the odds.

Returning back to the house after fleeing at the speed of a cheetah was the hardest part. Thankfully no-one is home. I'm not sure where Effie went to but her car isn't in the driveway and neither is Johanna's. Maybe they went off to try and find me. If so, I should at least have a couple of hours before they return. To them, I could be anywhere in the whole of District 12.

I'm not sure how to go about doing this. Should I just come out with it? Or should I be more subtle? I plan to start helping Peeta the Slave with whatever jobs he's been given. That would show I'm no harm right? That I don't intend to treat him like everyone else does? Or, most importantly, would he believe it if it did work?

The front yard is seeminly untouched since I left. A pair of gardening gloves lie on the grass beside the flower bed but that's as far as the differences go. I pick the gloves up and rub the coarse fabric between my fingertips. Bits of soil still clings to the material and I have to shake them to get rid of it. My feet move of their own accord, walking round to the backyard, stopping by the backdoor. I know where my concious wants to take me but I'm not sure if the more aware part of me wants to follow. Last time I was out here, I spent too long thinking and almost went in anyway. Plus I do have to return the gloves . . .

Approaching the basement door, I become aware of the fact that maybe it needs a key and I won't be able to get in at all. That would make it final! It would mean I'm not supposed to go in there and talk to anyone. I can go on with my life and not wonder whether I was supposed to go into that basement or not.

But it isn't locked. This makes a small part of me thankful and a larger part more anxious than it was five minutes ago. This is _his_ domain, I don't feel right going down there into the unknown without expressed permission from him. Is that strange? I mean, Effie goes in there all the time when she pleases but that's _Effie._ Not me. But I want to do this . . . I want to help.

Back in District 5, when I was only eleven, my father was publicy murdered for loving my mother. I don't know how they found out about them or why they decided to deal with it so brashly, but they shot him. I'm suprised my mother wasn't arrested. Maybe they only thought that my dad was the one emotionally compromised? I don't know. All I knew was that he wasn't there anymore. The basement was empty and my father was dead. My mother fell into a deep depression and wouldn't respond to us anymore. Prim was still only a small eight year old who relied on her mother to care for her and therefore decided to lean on me for support. Piled all the responsiblity onto me because our mother was no longer responsive. I don't blame her for it, I'd never blame her, because I'd do the same thing when I was her age.

It was my fault we nearly died. I couldn't feed us. I couldn't manage it. When the food ran out I started making mint water and hoping for the best. The black market scared me and there was no other way to get food if you didn't have the money. I had the oppurtunity to trade some baby clothes if I had the guts to go out and try but I was too scared to. I was afraid of the people who went there. The scary women who had those lifeless characters following after them. There was something about those people . . . the lifelessness in their eyes, their faces devoid of any emotion, following after them like obdient puppy dogs. They might as well have been dead. These ghosts of people frightened me more so than the women themselves did. It was the look in their eyes that was so empty, so helpless, that scared me to the very core and chilled me to the bone.

I don't remember a lot about that time. My mind was clouded with nothing but fear that all I can rememebr about back then was the hollow feeling of hunger and the desperation of knowing that if I don't bring back the next meal then the death of my mother and sister would be on my head. Vague memories would return to me at random times. The cold feeling of rain soaking my clothes and the rough scrape of tree bark against my back. Most of all, I remember blue eyes. Most of the time, I'd wave it off, say they belonged to my sister, but recently I haven't been so sure. Back then my sister's eyes were innocent, weak, tired, ready to give up but these eyes in my mind are the polar oppisote of all those things. They're wide with wonder, admiration, with a hint of fear of the unknown awaiting them. I don't understand the connection between those blue eyes and my past self but they somehow comfort me.

Peeta the Slave has blue eyes. I haven't gotten a good enough look at him to see what sort of blue eyes but something inside me keeps niggling at me, telling me the detail is significant. I think it's that niggling feeling that pushes me towards the basment and makes me open the door and climb down the stairs.

The first thing my mind processes is that it's dark. Very dark. The air is thick with dust and it it becomes harder and harder to breathe the more down underground I go. But I push on none the less until I reach the bottom. The sunlight streaming through the open door provides very little aid sightwise and my hand self conciously feels around the wall for a light switch. When it finds a small switch and flicks it on, the light bulb hanging from the middle of the room creates a small hue of light across the room that helps me see a bit more clearly.

"Hello?" I call softly. "Peeta the Slave? You down here? Look, I'm not here to give you an order or anything . . . I just . . . god, I don't know . . . I just wanted to see you I guess. Say sorry properly, out of the prying eyes of the others, you know?" There's no response. "Well . . . I'am sorry. . . for hitting you and the kiss was kind of uncalled for too . . . it was just a thing I remember my mother doing in the past and I didn't want to leave you with just a hit and . . . well . . . it was stupid and I'm sorry so . . ."

"I told you to do it though," a voice says, making me jump. I can hear him but I can't see him.

"But . . . it wasn't right," I say, feeling stupid talking to a seeminly empty room. "My hand still tingles and I can still hear it echoing round in my mind." There's a pregnant pause and I fiddle with my thumbs, knawing on the inside of my cheek while waiting for him to reply.

"That was nearly an hour and a half ago," he finally says. He says this as if he expects me to be over it by now.

"And? I still did it," I reply.

"You're not like the others are you?" he asks. "Riddled with guilt over a silly slap?"

"I hurt you, that's not silly. Slaps aren't silly," I contradict.

"When you're used to recieveing them then they are," the voice responds.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, don't dewll on it. Seriously."

I look around the room and still see nothing. "Where are you?" I ask. He has fallen silent again and my eyes search the room, desperately trying to find him but failing miserably. Where is he?!

"Why do you call me that?" He suddenly asks.

"Uh . . . what?" I frown.

"Peeta the Slave. Why do you call me that?"

"I . . . I . . . I don't know . . . I just . . . do . . ."

"We're not all baptised 'the slave' when we are born you know. You don't have to call me that," the voice replies.

"What . . . should I call you then?" I ask. "What's your surname?" There's no response again and I sigh, starting to feel slightly irrtated. "Mine's Everdeen if that helps?"

"Ever_green?_"

"_Deen,"_ I correct. "Ever_deen._"

"Alright then, Ever_deen_," he says. "My name doesn't matter. Just call me Peeta, OK?"

"Fine," I reply. "OK then . . . Peeta." It sounds strange saying the name as if there's no difference between us and there isn't 'the slave' barrier preventing me from treating him normally. Which there really shouldn't be.

"That sounds better." His voice is suddenly right behind me and I jump, spinning around and releasing a quiet shriek as he materilizes infront of me from the shadows.

"How did you do that?!" I exclaim.

"Simple camoflague," Peeta replies. "The darkest corner of this room is sheltered by the stairs over there." He points over to where he was standing. "So the most likely place to hide is over that corner. The darkest one."

"Why would you hide?" I ask. Peeta quirks an eyebrow at my question and I nod my head, waiting for an answer.

"You shouldn't be down here," he says, changing the subject. "Without you having an order to give or having . . . other requests." A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of what these 'other requests' are. "You really should go, it's dangerous." He walks over to the steps and indicates for me to go up them. The light filters in from outside and makes his face clearer. A deep pang grows in my stomach as my eyes lock on his. The blue is familar, like the distant memory from when I was a kid. They can't be the same ones though . . . that's not possible . . . right? My gaze slides past his eyes and lands on the angry pink mark in the shape of my hand that sits on his cheek.

"I left a mark," I say, walking over to him and lifting my hand up to touch it before thinking better of it and retracting it back. "I'm so sorry."

"Believe me, you kept me more safe by hitting me than you would have by letting Effie and that other woman think that you were having a civilized conversation with me," Peeta assures. "Now go before you get yourself in trouble!"

"But I hit you! I never hit anyone before in my life!" I exclaim.

"Well now you have," replies Peeta.

"Isn't there a way I could make it up to you?" I ask. Peeta sighs and lightly pushes me up the stairs. He doesn't push hard, just enough to get me up and back out into the backyard.

"Maybe you can buy me a coffee next time we see each other," he jokes driliy before shutting the basement doors, shutting me out.

I crouch down by the doors and press my ear against the weathered wood, listening inside. There isn't much sound, just some rustilng and the occasional scrape against the floor. What could he possibly do down there and why was he so eager for me to leave? He can't care about my welfare of being down there and talking to him surely. When we weren't with him, I used to hear my father singing. His voice would float up the basement stairs and would reach our ears. It was comforting, like his way of telling us that he's still there with us even when we felt like he's wasn't.

A rustle drags me out of my thoughts and I frown at how close it sounded. Like Peeta was sitting on the very top step, doing the exact thing I'am doing right now. I lift my head and press my hand against the wood and wait. A couple of seconds pass before I feel the wood heat up slightly, as if someone's hand was on the other side, pressing against mine.

"I'm sorry," I find myself whispering. Even if he can't hear me, it seems that saying it out loud is all I can do because, in reality, I doubt sorry will ever be enough.

**A/N: They're interacting more now! Yay! ^_^**

**Please R&R :D**


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: OMG! Two chapters in one day! :O I just couldn't stop writing after posting the last update! :D**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Chapter Eight

I wake up the next morning to yelling. As I come to my senses I realize it is not yelling but cheering. Not in Effie's house but outside. Quickly getting changed, I rush outside to see what the source of the noise is. As soon as I set foot outside my eyes widen in horror as I realize what day it is today. I've been so wrapped up in my personal issues I've forgotten about the newspaper article I read earlier in the week and judging by the whipping post set up in the square just at the bottom of the hill that the Seam sits on and the cheering of the crowd of women there, today is the day the paper spoke about.

Today is the day they kill Finnick Odair.

I've already decided not to attend such a horrific occasion when two women I don't recognize appear at the end of the road. I soon realize they're not ordinary women: they're wearing PLA uniforms. PLA's are the Panem Law Abiders who are like a police force for the individual Districts. I wonder what they're doing up here when they really should be down at the square. I watch them curiously as they approach the house a couple of houses down from Effie's and knock on the door. When there's no response, I jump when one of them kicks the door in.

A girl screams as both PLA's enter her house and drag her out. Her face is pained, tears soaking her face and her features scrunched up in rage. Her brown hair is bedraggled and messy, whipping around her head as she struggles against the Law Abider's hold on her arms.

"I'm not going!" The girl screams. "You can't make me!" I wonder what her problem is. Shouldn't she be like everyone else? Eager to watch the sin of a man put in his place? My questions are answered as my eyes lock on the barely visible baby bump peeking out from under her camisole.

This girl is Annie Cresta.

They can't be possibly forcing her to go and watch them murder Finnick are they? Now I've witnessed a lot of cruelty over the years but surely this is too far is it not? Why can't they just leave the woman be to grieve on her own? A feeling of rage bubbles up inside me and just then a slingshot lying on the pavement catches my eye. A kid must have dropped it or something . . .

Before I fully realize what I'm doing, I've picked the slingshot and a rock the size of a toddler's fist up and have aimed it right at the PLAs. As soon as I let go of the elastic band the rock sails soundlessly through the air and hits the closest woman right in the head. Both Law Abiders and Annie search for the source of the rock and before I've comprehended my actions I've sent another one flying. It hits the same woman and almost knocks her off her feet. It's when Annie's terrified eyes lock on me that I realize what I just did. I just assualted a PLA! I could get arrested for that!

Panic bubbles up inside me and I feel the urge to run but also feel planted to the ground, waiting for the PLAs to see me and realize it was I who hit them with the rocks. Something shifting behind me causes me to turn round and I'am rewarded with the sight of Peeta staring at me, his mouth open like a gaping fish. Effie must have set him the task of cleaning the windows because he has a soapy sponge in his left hand. He'll enjoy this, watching me get what he's probably been waiting for me to get ever since I arrived.

Instead of smirking or chuckling when the PLAs finally lock eyes with me like I thought he would, a sponge whacks against the side of one of their helmets, sending water and soap everywhere. "Leave her alone!" Peeta's voice suddenly yells, dragging the PLAs attention away from me. If given the choice to believe that one of their own threw a rock at them or that a slave did . . . well . . . then they'd believe it was the slave.

Before I can process in my mind what has just happened, Peeta has bolted. Jumped over the garden fence and is fleeing for his life. Both PLAs practically dump Annie to the ground as they run after him.

"Peeta!" I scream as I watch him disappear down the road and beyond. He's headed in the direction of the square where Finnick is about to be executed. I hurry over to Annie and help her to her feet. She wavers beside me uncertainly, watching as the PLAs disappear as well. Her face is slightly scraped from hitting the ground and her hand sits on her stomach protectively.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers.

"What?" I frown, dragging my attention away from the bottom of the hill.

"He's dead."

"What?"

"They won't let him survive that. As soon as they catch him, he's dead," Annie explains gravelly. My stomach coils in on itself and I suddenly feel like vomiting. "Dead like Finnick," she whimpers. My head snaps to the side to look at her and I bite my lip.

"I'm sorry," I say, hugging her. Annie shakes her head against my chest and pulls away.

"He's safer dead."

A frown etches onto my face but Annie doesn't elaborate, she just walks back to her house soundlessly, as if in a dream, and climbs over the front door, practically ignoring the face it is no longer on it's hinges. A gunshot rings out, echoing around the entire District and I shut my eyes, breathing out through my nose. Well that's that then. Finnick Odair is dead.

The cheering continues though and I frown, wondering why it hasn't died down now that Odair has been taken care of and I turn, locking my eyes on the whipping post in the square. The two PLAs who had a hold on Annie are now holding a struggling blonde, marching through the ground towards the colourful woman who stands out in the dull crowd like a sore thumb. Effie.

I run down the hill, my feet pounding against the ground. Harder and harder and harder until my legs feel like they're not there anymore and I'm running on air. I stumble at the bottom and nearly fall over but I pick myself up and push through the crowd of people standing around in the sqaure. "Effie!" I yell. "Effie! Get out of my way!" Finally pushing through the bystanders, I come out into a small circle formed by the crowd who are watching the drama inside with deep curiousity. The square has fallen silent as the PLAs continue to talk to Effie.

Effie herself is looking dumbstruck, her hand placed on her chest in a gesture of shock and her mouth hanging open as the PLAs explain what happened to them. My eyes lock on Peeta and I swallow hard. His expression isn't scared or even angry, he just looks tired. The PLAs know how to do their jobs I'll give them that. They caught him in what? Under five minutes? Hold on, am I complimenting _them?_ No. Forget that thought it's just horrible.

"It wasn't him!" I blurt out, making all four people (and the crowd) look at me. "I fired the rocks with this!" I hold my hand, still clutching the slingshot, out to them.

"Don't be stupid Katniss," Effie hisses. "You know better than to assualt a PLA."

"That's it! I'm stupid!" I reply. "Remember? _Duh,_ why are we not equal to slaves?" I put on a dumb voice for the latter setence and hit my forehead. No-one looks convinced.

"You have no aim Katniss, of course it wasn't you!" Effie exclaims.

"But-"

"Now let the grown ups talk," interuppts Effie. "Hush!"

I sigh in exasperation and look desperately at Peeta. A small smile grows on his lips as he locks eyes with me and he shrugs. _Nice try_, the gesture says.

"I'd suggest a whipping," one of the PLAs say.

"No!" I blurt out. "I mean, that's a bit harsh don't you think?"

"Nothing is too harsh," the Law abider replies stonily.

"_That_ obviously is!" I snap back.

"Ignore her," Effie says to the PLAs. "She's a bit slow. Mentally disabled, doesn't see the world like the rest of us."

"_Excuse_ me?!" I exclaim.

"Go home Katniss, I'll talk to you there," Effie says.

"No," I scoff. "Try and make me!"

"Would you like her removed Miss. Trinket?"

"Yes, I think that would be best," Effie sighs.

"What?! Effie!" I exclaim, hurt. A hand grabs my shoulder but I shake it off. "No, I'm staying here," I say firmly. Two hands grab me this time and pull me backwards. "Let me go!" Something sharp pricks the crook of my elbow and the earth begins to spin, causing me to stumble over my own feet. I blindly reach out for something to use for leverage but it does nothing for me. I hold on tight to whatever it is though, clinging onto it like a lifeline.

"Katniss," a soft voice whispers into my ear. "Let go, it's Ok." I drowzily realize that I'm holding onto Peeta's arm and would be slowly sliding to the ground if it weren't for his hand holding onto my elbow.

"I can't," I slurr, holding on tighter.

"Yes, you can, it's alright," he whispers.

"Can't leave you," I mumble.

"I'll be fine, I promise," Peeta replies, slowly letting go of my elbow until my back presses against the ground. I'm momentarily blinded by the sun shining in my eyes but people's silohuettes suddenly block the offending source of light.

"How _dare_ you touch her!" I vaguely hear Effie shriek.

"Shall we proceed with a whipping then?" a PLA asks.

"Yes! Of course! Whip some sense into the bloody animal!" Effie yells.

"No," I croak weakly before my eyes droop shut and all I can see is the dark. But it's not the dark. Because a pair of bright blue eyes stare at me through the darkness, unblinking and unmoving.

The eyes . . . they're _his._

**A/N: A bit of action in this chapter to get your blood pumping. Better get used to it because there's a whole lot more action to go! ^_^**

**Please R&R :)**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Oh my god guys I'm so sorry this took so long! I've been totally absorbed in my other story 'Torn Between.' I'm soooooooo sorry! Please forgive me? **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Chapter Nine

I clucth the mug of tea in my hands, trembling as I sit on our doorstep. I don't know how I got home after being drugged but I somehow ended up in my bed when I woke up. Effie hasn't returned yet, the house was eerily empty when I looked around. I'm going to let it rip when she returns. How dare she let them drug me! How dare she not believe me when I said I threw the rocks! Most importantly, how _dare_ she let those monsters do such a thing to Peeta!

Seconds, mintues, hours pass as I sit on the doorstep, waiting on them to return. Time is meaningless; I don't know how long as passed as I sit. All I know is that I'm going to murder Effie for being so cruel. That woman is _not_ my aunt.

The sky turns blue-ish grey as night falls and the shrill voice pierces through the air angrily. I look around to locate the source of the voice; my eyes falling on the bright haired woman as she appears at the top of the hill, dragging a damaged, bleeding blonde behind her. My heart clenches at the gruesome sight. Effie pays no heed to Peeta's pain as she pulls him along behind her, yelling at him for not keeping up. She drags him up the driveway and my eyes widen at the amount of blood that's trailing behind them. How many times did they whip him exactly?

"-now apologize!" Effie snaps-persumably finishing a long rant-as she pushes Peeta to the ground by my feet. He catches himself with his hands before he falls on his face. My stomach churns at the red seeping through the cloth of the shirt on his back. "Go on. Apologize," Effie says, folding her arms across her chest. "I'm sorry . . ." she prompts, kicking him on the leg with her heeled shoe.

Peeta lifts his head to look me in the eyes-his hair falling into his eyes as he does-and my body tenses up at the intensity of his gaze. My plans to yell at Effie are long forgotten as my throat dries up in pain for him. My heart begins to ache, as if feeling the agnoy he's suffering through right now and all I want to do is gather him up in a hug and never let go.

The thought is unnerving but not unwelcome.

"I'm . . . sorry," he says, his voice cracked and strangled.

"For . . . ?" Effie prompts again.

"I'm so-sorry, for grabbing you in the square, Kat-Katniss," Peeta finishes, his arms trembling as he tries to hold himself up.

"Effie, can you leave us alone please?" I ask, tearing my gaze away from him to look at my aunt.

"Why?" Effie asks cryptically.

"Damn it Effie I want to punish him alone!" I snap. "_You_ weren't the one who was grabbed were you?!"

"No," Effie sighs, shaking her head and walking past us to the front door. "But you really need to sort out these mood swings. One minute it's 'save the slaves!' then next moment it's 'I wanna punish him alone Effie!' If I didn't know any better I'd say you had a _thing_ for torture!" My mouth hangs open at what she means and I go to protest but the door has already shut tight behind her.

I glare at the mahogany door for a moment before turning back to Peeta. He's still on his hands and knees but has a half smile on his face. "Please tell me you don't have a thing for torture," he jokes. I smile and hook an arm underneath his, pulling him to his feet.

"Don't worry, I don't," I reply, taking a step forward to lead him round the back to his basement. I wince as the blood stain on his back grows and he moans in pain. "Does it hurt much?"

"I'm OK," he answers. "At least I can't say I've had worse this time." I smile and lead him to the basement again as gently as I can. He's not too heavy for a boy his age which is worrying but I try not to think about it as we reach the backyard. Hopefully Effie will think I'm going to 'punish' him in the basement in private when I really have no intentions of hurting a hair on his head. I hook my foot under the doorhandle leading to the basment and yank the door open by yanking up and half lead, half carry, Peeta to down inside.

The stairs pose a problem as we climb down, the alien movement causing more and more blood to seep out of his back. The sooner I get him down on his stomach, the better. I lower him to the floor once we reach the bottom and run back up the stairs, shutting the doors and flicking the light on on my descent back down. When I reach the bottom again, I'm startled to find Peeta's blue eyes locked on me. He immediately catches on that I've caught him staring and flicks his gaze down the floor. How odd.

"Does that make it feel any better?" I ask as I sit down beside him, crossed legged. "Being on your stomach, I mean."

"Sort of," he replies, wincing as I peel his shirt back. My heart drops into my stomach at the sight of the deep lashes stratched across the skin of his back. I bite down on the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from gagging at the raw flesh.

My mother is a healer, she's great at treating things like this. Prim also helps a lot too, fetching her things, unfazed by any injury or illness brought to them. It's strange how much more mature my little sister is than I'am. She never argued with teachers at school and definetly never made a fuss about deep or serious wounds. Maybe I'll never learn to grow up.

"How does it look?" Peeta asks. "It's bad isn't it?"

"So-so," I lie, wishing I had the magic healing hands of my mother and sister.

"I _can_ feel it you know," Peeta points out. "It's bad."

"You're going to be fine," I assure.

As I examine the wounds more closely I can't help shaking the thought that this could have been me. I could have been the one whipped for assaulting a PLA. But I wasn't, because he saved me.

"Why did you do it?" I ask as casually as I can manage. "Why did you save me?" Peeta's silent for a moment and I worry that maybe he won't answer. Maybe I had crossed some sort of line I didn't even know was drawn.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. "I just can't . . . shake the feeling that I've seen you before somewhere . . can you feel it?" The image of the blue eyes immediately comes into my mind but I shake them away.

"Not unless you were ever in District 5," I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"I was," Peeta answers seriously. "When I was younger. I was born there actually. My mother owned the bakery."

"Mellark's bakery?" I ask. "I know that place. When we were kids my little sister used to drag me to the window to look at the cakes. She loved the intricate detail put into the icing of the cupcakes and always gushed about them. But one day . . . the cakes just stopped being displayed."

Peeta nods and I can't help the smile spreading across my face. "Oh my god, did you make them? They were amazing!" Peeta shrugs sheepishly at the compliment and I can see the nostalgia in his eyes. "Wait . . . is that why you got mad when I called you baker boy? Because I didn't know, I swear to god."

"I believe you," answers Peeta. "It still stung though."

"I'm sorry," I say, placing my hand ontop of his. "I didn't know."

The simple touch sends a shock through me and I'm suddenly transported to an old apple tree. The cold rain soaks me and makes me shiver as I stare at the old building infront of me. It's the bakery. Mellark's bakery. Bakeries sell bread don't they? Bread. Bread. _Burnt_ bread. Blonde hair . . . blue eyes.

"You saved my life," I whisper, my eyes widening in realization. Peeta chuckles and shakes his head.

"I doubt they would have killed you Katniss," he says. "I'm sure Effie would have came up with some sort of excuse to protect you."

"No, not that," I say, my hand slipping into his to grip it tightly. "You saved my life. My family's life. Our lives. You gave us bread."

A frown etches onto Peeta's face in confusion and I tighten my hold on his hand.

"You're Peeta Mellark," I say. "You're the boy who saved my life."

**A/N: Sorry again it took so long. I'm so, so, so, so, so, so, a million times so sorry!**

**Please R&R ^-^**


	11. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Guys you have no idea how sorry I'am for taking so long with this! I hit a brick wall and had terrible writer's block for ages. I got there though. Please don't kill me?**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games.**_

Chapter Ten

"What do you believe about the country?"

I sit on the lawn, cross legged, while Peeta digs up some weeds from between the fence and the garden. His back is healing slowly. As soon as Effie discovered it had healed enough for him to work she immediately gave him a million and one tasks to do. He doesn't remember what I said to him in the basement . . . he was too out of it.

I don't know whether this is a good thing or not.

I lean back on my elbows and squint up at the sun. What does he mean? "What?" I ask.

"You heard me. What do you believe about the country?" Peeta says, pulling up a bunch of dandelions.

A woman walks past the house and eyes us both curiously so I raise my voice and say, "Don't forget that clump of weeds over by the end of the fence there." She nods to herself in statisfaction and walks on. Nosey Cow. "Why would you ask such a random question?" I whisper once she's completely gone.

"Because I want to know," Peeta says.

I watch him as he pulls up more weeds. This boy saved my life and he doesn't even remember it. How could I not have realized it sooner anyway? I'm an idiot. A big idiot. I want to ask him why; why me? Why did he throw me the bread? Why did he get himself hurt just for some scrawny girl sitting under the bakery tree? He saved my life . . . that's twice now. I don't understand it.

Worst of all is he can't remember doing it. He doesn't remember me.

"You know what I wanna know?" I ask. "Why did you leave 5?"

Peeta eyes me curiously over his shoulder. Another hunk of weeds gets ripped from the ground and I catch him wince because of the force of the pull, his back scars still raw. "How about an answer for an answer?" he suggests.

"Who answers first?"

"Well, I asked first."

I sigh and shake my head. "But your answer would be shorter." Peeta sighs and turns his head away from me, yanking more and more weeds out agressively.

"I did something," he answers. "Something stupid but also something I don't regret. My," he pauses before sighing, "_mother_ had always been sick of me but I guess doing that one thing finally pushed her over the edge. She shipped me back off to the Capitol Compound . . . I spent years there before Effie bought me."

"I'm sorry," I say. "That's awful."

"To _you_ it's awful. Labour and punishment is as common to a slave as brushing your teeth and combing your hair is to a woman . . . it's life."

My heart aches. How can someone live like this without fighting back? Without doing something about it? Isn't there someone else out there who thinks like me? Someone who could speak out? This country is getting ridiculous. What this country needs . . . is someone to say no.

"It's your turn to answer," Peeta states. "What do you believe about this country?"

I mull the question over for a moment. It's a big question. A big question whose answer I never thought I'd be able to speak out loud because of the consquences of the words.

"This country is in ruin. It is broken. It is sick. I'am disgusted to have been born here." I speak quietly, so no one else hears it but Peeta. "I don't understand what makes you different. Just because you have a dick doesn't mean you should be tortured and killed." I never normally swear but the word immediately comes to mind without myself realizing it. "Why can't we share labour? Divide up the work? There is no excuse why not because the reason is that this country is the way it is because women are sick, demented human beings who take pride in the enjoyment of hurting and beating and raping men just because they're different."

"You're not," Peeta says quietly. "You're different."

"I mustn't have gotten enough oxygen at birth or something," I mutter, tucking my knees under my chin.

"I'm glad then." Peeta holds a handful of soil and daisies, staring at them as if unsure of what to do with them. "Because if you hadn't . . . I wouldn't know what it meant to feel alive."

Heat rises to my cheeks in embarressment. His words are so kind and sweet like honey. I know what he means though. Apart from my father, I have never spoken to a man. Even though I believed male slavery was wrong a part of my mind still thought of them as alien creatures who weren't like us. It wasn't a part of my mind I was proud of but it was still there.

But then I met Peeta and I realized they weren't different. They were like us . . . and not just that, my first enounter with a non-relative male was with the most down to earth person I've ever met. How someone can actually look right into those incredible blue eyes and still be capable of beating him is beyond me. Everytime our eyes lock together, my insides melt in that millisecond before they flit away quickly. I don't understand the feeling and I fear what it means.

I wrap my arms around my legs, taking a deep breath and steeling myself before I ask my next question. "What is the Capitol Compound like?"

Peeta freezes and sits down on the back of his legs. My eyes trail over him and pause at his hands, which I realize are trembling slightly.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," I say. "You don't have to answer that-"

"It's fine," he replies. "It's a hundred storey building. The first floor is a reception area. The next nineteen are made up of training areas-each area designated for a different task we must be taught to become a well trained slave, fit for use. After that is twenty stories of dorms where we are kept when not being trained. We weren't allowed to speak to each other . . . our spare time was just spent staring at the ceiling, wondering how much longer this would last . . ."

A lump forces it's way into my throat and when I swallow, it aches. It sounds so awful, and he hasn't even finished yet . . .

"The _following_ twenty floors is another set of training areas but"-there's a long pause and he drops the weeds to the ground-"not the convential chore training." I bite my lip in horror. I chew on it until it draws blood. "Then there's another set of twenty floors for dorms." He stops completely and I wonder whether that's it. But he said a hunderd floors . . . right? That's only eighty.

"What about the last twenty?" I ask quietly.

Another long pause. What if he breaks down from talking about this? If a slave is deemed mentally unfit then they shall be sent back to the Capitol Compound, like a broken appliance sent back to the store.

"The torture floors."

The word torture makes my heart drop into my stomach. My hand goes to my throat as the aching lump grows and tears prick in the corner of my eyes.

"If a rule was broken or someone stepped out of line then they were sent up there to be put back in their place," Peeta explains, his voice low. "I was in the second set of dorm rooms. If everyone was quiet enough . . . you could hear the people's screams."

"Did you ever get sent up there?" I ask, my voice pitchy and high.

Peeta laughs to himself. "Of course. Everyone ends up there at least once. I was sent more than once though. I had a habit of not being able to keep my mouth shut." I think of his compliant silence when I first arrived here in 12 and wonder how this can be right. "I know what you're thinking. Can't tell from me now, can you?"

I silently nod.

"One day a friend of mine couldn't work. His hands were cracked and bloody. His knuckles were swollen. He couldn't do any more. But they just kept pushing him. Screaming at him and whipping him to the point that I thought he was going to bleed out. I just . . . cracked and yelled at them. I told them to lay off and couldn't they see that he was dying? It wasn't the first time I'd gotten mouthy at them. Only this time was the first time they did something about it."

I take one of his trembling hands in both of mine. He looks at me, his blue eyes watery and sparkling in the sunlight and I smile at him reassuringly. He looks kind of deflated, like telling me all this is like ridding a burden of some sort.

"What did they do Peeta?" I ask.

"Stuck duct tape on my mouth for three whole months. The only thing I could breath out of was my nose. They'd do stuff to me and laugh when I couldn't shout at them like I'd normally do. I learnt not to speak out without permission after that." He clenches his fists and I swipe my thumb over his knuckles. He looks at our joined hands and seems to be a trance of some sort.

"That is ridiculous!" I exclaim. "They can't do that! It's just . . . sick! And unjust!"

"I can't even go near duct tape anymore," Peeta murmers quietly.

"We need a catalyst!" I declare. "Someone to speak out. Someone to say _no._"

Peeta frowns and looks me in the eye. "Why can't you do it?" he asks. "Be the catalyst?"

I scoff. "Me? That's hilarious."

"I believe you could do it."

I sigh and tuck a stray hair behind my ear. "Uh-huh, sure I could," I say sarcastically.

"We need someone like you to stand up for the little guys," Peeta insists. "Because it doesn't just stop with duct tape. It gets worse and worse as time passes. Right now more and more people are tortured for no reason other than the fact that we're not the same as them. That we're different and it's not fair." Peeta stands up and gathers up the weeds. I watch him as he dumps them into the garden bin and heads to the backyard fence. He turns back and looks at me with sad eyes. "It's not fair," he repeats. "Please think about it Katniss."

Peeta disappears into the backyard and I hug my knees tighter. Could I do it? Could I be the person who stands up for the males of the country? Speak out and do something?

Be a catalyst?

A bird glides over and perches on the garden gate. It sings my lullaby and I smile.

A mockingjay.

_**A/N: Once again, sorry about the long wait. I hope it was worth it?**_

_**Please R&R! ^_^**_


	12. Chapter 11

_**A/N: Hey guys, here's chapter eleven! I'm getting back into the groove of this story so expect more chapters soon! :D**_

_**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot idea.**_

Chapter Eleven

Every revolution begins with a spark. A spark. A spark that doesn't just grow from nothing. If I ever wanted to become a catalyst like Peeta wants then I'd have to do something to ignite something big. But it has to be something small.

What could _I_, of all people, possibly do?

Dust unsettles around me as I march through the crowded market area. I rap my knuckles against my forehead and grunt. People mill about around me, chatting, carrying shopping, yelling orders to their slaves, but they might as well not be there as far as I'm aware.

It's when the twelve year old boy trips and lands in front of my feet that I snap out of it. I'm transported back to when my views of slavery were changed. When that boy dropped the shopping bags in the town square. The boy who's owner beat him for it until he cowered on his knees before her. Only a child. A little boy. So young. Then it hits me. This isn't what the country should be like. Little boys should have the right to sing and play and be as carefree as little girls.

They should be born free.

I hold my hand out to the tripped boy. He looks up at me fearfully. Dirt is engrained in the creases of his skin and his face looks youthful, expressing how young he really is and how unfair it is that this is the life he has to live.

"It's okay," I whisper. "I won't hurt you."

As any naive child would, he believes me and takes my hand. I gently pull him to his feet and dust his clothes off for him. He looks awestruck, stunned almost, and I realize why. I just helped a slave to his feet.

The women in the square stare at me in various ways. Shock. Horror. Disgust.

But the slaves stare me too. In appreciation. In pride. In hope. Every one of them wear a smile-however small-on their faces.

When the first apple is thrown, I'm unprepared for it and it bounces off my head. My eyes follow the red fruit as it drops to the ground and rolls a couple of inches before stopping. The apple creates a tidal wave of multiple items of foods to get thrown at me. I shriek and wrap my arms around the boy's shoulders, steering him away from the crowd as we're pelted with scraps.

My feet skid as I turn a corner down an alleyway. The food throwing dies down and the boy and I lean against the way, gasping for breath.

"Are you okay?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he replies, bracing his hands against his thighs as he calms his breathing.

"What's your name?"

"Rory," the boy answers. "Rory Hawthorne."

"Nice to meet you Rory, I'm Katniss," I say. "Katniss Everdeen. Where's your owner Rory?"

"At home . . ." Rory answers almost gravely.

"And she trusted you to go to the market on your own?" I ask in disbelief. Normally slaves are not trusted to complete tasks on their own in public areas until they're at least eighteen.

"No, I'm with my brother," he replies, straightening up.

"Your . . . brother?"

"Rory!" someone shouts. A boy runs down the alley and grabs Rory's arm, pulling him behind himself and glaring at me. "You stay away from my brother," he snaps.

"What?!" I exclaim.

"No, Gale, this is Katniss. She helped me!" Rory pipes up from behind his brother.

"Don't be stupid Rory, women don't care about us," the boy-who I assume to be Gale-says. The way his grey eyes stare at me with hatred both terrifies me and makes me want to prove his hate wrong.

"No Gale really," Rory insists. "Katniss helped me up in front of everyone! They threw food at us and all . . . please don't hurt her Gale she wasn't hurting me."

"Of course I wasn't hurting him!" I exclaim. "He's just a kid!"

Gale looks conflicted and his face twists into a deep frown. "Just stay away from my brother, okay?" With that he grabs Rory and drags him up the alley, despite his protests.

Something tells me this isn't the last time I'll see Gale and Rory Hawthorne.

When I get home, I tug on my braid in frustration, trying to think of the right way to tell Peeta that I can't do it. I just can't. I'm not rebellion material. It's just impossible. I stand outside the basement door for what feels like hours, nibbling on a hangnail nervously. It'll disappoint him, I know it will. He believed I could do it and I'm about to tell him no.

My fist is poised above the door to knock when I hear him speak.

"You have no idea how you make me feel . . . no that's stupid . . . hey, here's the thing . . . damn it Peeta get yourself together . . ."

I frown, confused, and lean in closer to the basement door to listen more carefully.

"I've spent years being treated like dirt. They've beat me, they've made me feel like I'am nothing and I'll never be anything because I'am the way I'am." His voice is slightly muffled but there's no mistaking it. That's definetly Peeta. What's he doing? Talking to himself? Lord, I hope he's not losing his mind down there . . .

"And yet . . you're different. You talk to me like I'm your equal. Like there's no divide. Like I'am not dirt. I'am not nothing. That I'am really just like you. I wish I could say all this to you face, I really do, but everytime you look at me everything just crumbles apart and I remember my place, where I stand in this country, and yet also when I look into your eyes I feel like I could do anything. Walk on water, soar through the sky like a mockingjay . . . live a normal life . . . with you. Always with you."

Is he talking about me? He can't be surely. I'am not capable of making someone feel so alive like the way he describes. My hand retracts back from the door. Did he, dare I say it, have a boyfriend back in the training center? It happens . . . sometimes . . . especially with the slaves. They change their sexuality to be able to please their needs in the cramped compound. I saw it in a documentary of male behaviour in school once.

For some reason, the thought of there being someone else makes my heart ache and I step back from the basement doors. Could Peeta be gay? He can't be. But why do I think that? It's not impossible. What singles out this one boy from the rest who have changed their sexual preferences in the compound? There shouldn't be anything at all and yet there is. As insignificent the one thing is being:

I don't want there to be anyone else.

My mind is consumed in my thoughts, my worries of Peeta having another half who fills his waking hours. Someone who makes him happy, who he loves . . .

Someone who isn't me.

_**A/N: The feels are flying and the Hawthornes have appeared! What will the women think of Katniss helping Rory? Shall it become the spark that ignites a rebellion? :-)**_

_**Please R&R! :D**_


	13. Chapter 12

_**A/N: Sorry this took so long guys! I've been having some serious writer's block with this one recently but I'm back on track . . . I hope. Anyway, the first part of this chapter is from the past and is in Peeta's POV and then the second part is the present and is in Katniss' POV.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or it's characters.**_

Chapter Thirteen

**The past:**

"It's this guy again?" A feminine voice asked. His head was swimming and Peeta couldn't form a coherant thought in his mind. The last thing he remembered was Darius nearly passing out from exhaustion and his yelling at the slave drivers before everything went black. His eyes refused to open and he couldn't move a muscle. "What did he do this time?"

"Rebelled against one of the drivers," a different voice replied. Cold fingers brushed some hair off his forehead and Peeta suppressed a sudder as every fibre of his being wanted to recoil against the touch. "Defended one of the other slaves who were working near death."

"Just can't seem to keep his mouth shut can he?" the first person sighed.

"Seems so," the second replied. "I think we should knock that one in the head."

"I think you're right."

A second later, a searing pain splashed across Peeta's cheek and his eyes snapped open as the slap burned it's way around his face, his head jerking to the side and his neck cracking in the process. How long had he been out?

When his eyes finally adjusted, Peeta was met by two women standing before him. He flew through an inventory in his mind and noted that his wrists were strapped to a table and so were his ankles. Any form of escape was impossible, even for someone as determined as he was.

The owner of the first voice-a woman with sleek orange hair and a pointed face-shook her hand slightly, obviously having been the one who'd slapped him. "Do you know why you're here, slave?" she sneered.

"No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me," Peeta replied.

The second woman, a curvy blonde with hair that tumbled past her shoulders, sighed and rolled her eyes. "I told you, too much to say about everything, Harper."

"You're here because you were born unclean," the orange woman-obviously Harper-explained. "And you were born to serve those worthy to be served." Peeta fought the urge to roll his eyes. He'd heard this speech a million times before. "You're supposed to be compliant and know your place."

"Which you obviously can't understand," the blonde put in. "What is it going to take to teach you to shut up?"

"I don't know, you're the expert," Peeta answered. "I mean, I'm a dumb slave, right? What do _I_ know?"

Harper turned her nose up in disgust. "Didn't your owner teach you not to talk back?"

"You mean my _mother?_ She taught me nothing," Peeta replied acidly. "Just how to recieve the back end of a beating. She claimed the teaching was _your_ job. Which you obviously haven't done very well."

"Jackson, get some of the duct tape," Harper said, her gaze never moving from Peeta. The blonde nodded and disappeared into the darkness. When she re-emerged, she had a roll of sliver tape in her hand. "Maybe this will finally shut you up." Harper took the tape and pulled it out, creating a loud _riiiipppp_ that rang out in the otherwise empty room. Tearing a giant chunk off with her teeth, she tossed the roll back to Jackson.

"Any last words slave?" she sneered. "I'd chose carefully. It'll be the last time you speak in a long time."

Peeta glared, his face giving nothing of the frantic beating of his panicing heart away, his eyes hard as he stared Harper down. "You do not own me," he finally stated. Harper scowled and stuck the tape tightly over his mouth.

"Extra adhesive," Harper said as if it needed explained. "Will stick for months on end." Peeta tried to move his mouth but it was so tightly pressed against it that he couldn't even breathe let alone speak. "You won't be speaking for a while, slave."

Jackson giggled and ran her hand down his jaw. "You're much more attractive with your mouth shut," she said. "Much more . . . appealing. How long has he been working down in the daily routine Harper?"

"Since his mother dumped him back. So about five months," Harper explained. "We've been meaning to bump him up a level but with the sudden out break in male births we haven't had a chance to."

"I think he's ready to come and join me in my sector," Jackson grinned. "There's always someone out there looking for a fuck and blondes go like wildfire and we're the ones to blame if they aren't fully equipped to please and create pleasure."

A bead of sweat ran down the side of Peeta's face as the blonde discussed his exchange in sectors with Harper. All Jackson had to do was sign over some papers and that was it. Peeta was moving up in the building-the one thing he'd dreaded his entire life.

Jackson freed him from the table and yanked him to his feet. Her eyes ran over his body unabashedly and she smirked. "Yes, you'll do just fine in my neck of the woods," she decided. Peeta wanted to reply with a snide comment but forgot about the duct tape on his mouth.

A hand roughly grabbed his backside and he jumped. Harper's breath brushed past his ear. "If you think I was bad," she said slowly, "Wait until you get to work with Jackson. She'll have you wishing you were back with me." Her words sent a shiver down his spine and he swallowed hard. That didn't sound promising at all.

"Come on pretty boy," Jackson said. She grabbed his wrists and wrapped them around his back, preventing any means of escape. Holding his trapped wrists in one hand, she roughly grabbed his chin with the other, forcing Peeta to look her in the eye.

"Now it's time to show you what it's really like to work." Her green eyes gleamed with malice and Peeta knew he wouldn't forget those eyes in a hurry.

~xXx~

**Present:**

The red headed woman and blonde sat silently across from her. Katniss tilted her head and pursed her lips. Who were these people? And what did they want? Effie twittered into the room holding a tray of tea and biscuits, blabbering about how much of an honour it was to have two women of the Capitol in her household.

"How may we help you?" she finally finished her babbling and sat down on the armchair beside Katniss' stool. Both women occupied the couch.

"Just a routine check." the blonde woman purred. "I'm Jackson, this is Harper. We tend to visit the owners of slaves who'd caused us . . . trouble in the compound to make sure they aren't being difficult."

"We understand you are now the owner of Mr. Mellark, is this correct Miss. Trinket?" Harper asked.

"Yes," Effie nodded. "Well, I actually co-own him with my niece Katniss."

Katniss' eyes widened. The way Effie said this as if casually answering a question in a survey. It sounded so strange, as if she did, indeed, share ownership over Peeta. The thought itself being so insane it took her a moment to comprehend it.

Harper nodded and wrote something down on her clipboard. "And has he been obiedent? Compliant? Has he caused any difficulties?"

"Oh no," Effie replied. "Believe me, if he had he'd have been on the first train back to the Capitol."

Jackson pursed her lips in distaste and frowned. She looked at her lap and murmered something to Harper that sounded along the lines of, 'That doesn't sound like him at all.' Harper nodded in agreement and shrugged.

"The problems we had with Mr. Mellark in the compound was that he had a tendancy to speak his mind," Jackson explained. "He'd been punished on numerous occasions for talking back and saying things that hinted at rebellion."

Katniss' heart dropped into her stomach at the word 'rebellion' and a lump grew in her throat. She tried not to show this though as something told her that if these women found out that Peeta was still fighting for justice they'd do something horrible to him. Maybe tape his mouth again or something . . . worse.

"He hasn't done this at all since he's been in your custody has he?" Harper asked.

Effie's eyebrows furrowed and she shook her head. "Oh my, no. I don't let him speak too often anyway. In fact, Katniss has spent more time with the slave than I have."

All eyes turned to Katniss and she gulped. Jackson's cool, green eyes felt like they were burning into her soul and Katniss tried not to avert her gaze. "Has Mr. Mellark done any of the mentioned with you, Kat-_niss_?" she asked, hissing like a snake at the end of her name.

"No," Katniss answered firmly. "No. He hasn't." Harper quirked an eyebrow at her and Katniss nodded frantically as if saying no to their question wasn't enough. "I don't even talk to him to much." Katniss paused and winked. "If you know what I mean." Her mind screamed at her for acting so awfully but there really was nothing she could do about it. It was either act like everyone else or send Peeta up shit creek without a paddle.

The backdoor suddenly opened and Katniss stiffened. Effie had given Peeta the job of nailing some hanging baskets into the wall at the back of the house and to do the washing. And the basket of clothes was sitting by the door of the sitting room. There was a soft knock on the door, something every slave had to do before they entered a room.

"Come in," Effie said, noticing the basket of clothes too.

Peeta entered the room cautiously, his mouth sealed shut just the way it was when Katniss first met him. He paused when he saw who was in the room and Katniss could swear she saw a fleck of fear glint through her eyes before they turned to stone again. He turned to the basket and made a move to pick it up when Harper held up a hand.

"Maybe it'd help if Mr. Mellark stayed," she said.

"If you think it'd help," Effie replied. "Slave, stay," she ordered, her tone making the instruction final. Peeta shut his eyes and clenched his jaw before nodding and staying by the door.

"Miss. Trinket, could Jackson and I speak to young Katniss and Mr. Mellark alone for a while?" Harper asked. Effie frowned in confusion but nodded.

"Of course, if you think it'd help." She stood up and left the room silently, knowing better than to argue with Capitol women.

Katniss began nervously twiddling with her thumbs as panic began to really settle in. She didn't understand what these women wanted but there was two things she knew for sure:

1) They scared Peeta

2) They weren't here for a warm chat.

What did they _want_?

_**A/N: Sorry to end it so aburptly. If everything goes as planned, the next chapter will be longer ^_^**_

_**I've also changed the type of writing I'm doing because I find it easier to write in third person POV :-)**_

_**Please R&R! :D**_


	14. Chapter 13

_**A/N: Hey guys! Here's chapter thirteen!**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**_

Chapter Thirteen

"You can speak Mr. Mellark," Jackson said, leaning back on the couch and crossing her arms. "We won't hurt you for it." Peeta quirked an eyebrow at the woman but didn't speak. They'd obviously played this game before and he knew better than to actually listen to the woman.

Katniss glared at the women and said, "I speak for him." She looked at Peeta and smiled. Even though he couldn't return it, Katniss could see the thankful glint in his eyes.

"Oh really?" Harper replied. She nudged Jackson and grinned. "Maybe the duct tape worked better than we thought." A scowl formed on Katniss' face and she clenched her jaw in disgust.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"We told you, _routine inspection_," Jackson replied. She squinted at Katniss and frowned. "Are you Katniss Everdeen? Daughter of Rose Everdeen?"

"How do you know that?" Katniss asked.

"Her slave was publicly executed a few years ago for emotional compromisation," Harper explained. "You also have a sister called Primrose don't you? Believe me Katniss, we workers of the compound know _everything._"

"Shouldn't you be in District 5 Everdeen?" Jackson asked.

"I emigrated," Katniss replied through gritted teeth. Harper flicked through a bunch of papers clipped to her clipboard, wearing a large smirk as she read something apparently amusing.

"Says here you're in 5 to learn how to treat slaves properly. Your teacher filled out an emigration form," she said. "Apparently you were too _kind._" Katniss wanted to slap the smirk off Harper's smug face but held back. "I trust you've learnt how the law works correctly now?" The hard look in Harper's eyes told Katniss it was best to just lie.

"Yes, actually," Katniss replied.

"Then, tell us young Katniss, what is Mr. Mellark to you personally?" Jackson asked.

Katniss' jaw tightened in anger. She knew what she was trying to do. Catch her out, trip her up, make her slip and say something she shouldn't. Well, it doesn't work like that. Not even glancing at Peeta, Katniss steeled herself before answering.

"A slave," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What else would he be?"

"You tell me," Jackson replied. "We have encountered many cases of females who have had friendships or, even worse, _relationships_ with their slaves. There's many words you could use to describe a person."

"True," Katniss said. "A person. But a male isn't a person, correct?"

Jackson smirked. "Very good," she said. "Effie has done well."

Harper didn't look convinced. She tugged on Jackson's shirt sleeve before pulling the woman over to her so she could whisper something into her ear. Jackson's face remained placid as Harper said something very animatedly to her. When she finally finished, Jackson nodded and turned to Katniss again.

"He's a good fuck isn't he?" she asked bluntly, flicking her head to Peeta. Katniss inhaled her own spit and choked, having to pound on her chest to get her breath back.

"What?!" she gasped.

"I said, he's a good fuck isn't he?" Jackson said more slowly. Katniss heard Peeta exhale shakily as she repeated the sentence.

"I wouldn't know," she said indigniantly. "I'm sixteen. They don't sell protection to sixteen year olds and I don't intend to get pregnant anytime soon."

"So you don't want to help the population issue?" Harper questioned. Katniss' eyes widened.

"No!" she blurted. "Of course I do . . . when I'm older." The red head didn't looked impressed but Jackson looked thouroughly amused.

"Of course," the blonde said. "I didn't have my first child until I was nineteen. Then again, it was a boy and had to be sent away so that doesn't count. Of course, since you're such the expert now Miss. Everdeen, you'd already know that."

"Uh, yeah," Katniss replied. She placed a hand on her chest and tried to look sympatheic. "I'm so sorry."

Jackson sighed. "It's okay. Some things just can't be helped." Harper rolled her eyes and wrote something else down on her clipboard. Jackson watched what she wrote with curiousity. Her eyes flicked up to Peeta-who was leaning against the wall by the door with his arms folded-and smirked. "I'm serious about you being able to speak. I'm not in the right frame of mind for our little game. Plus I've grown to miss that sarcastic tone of yours."

Peeta didn't rise to her bait. In fact, Katniss could swear he pressed his mouth closed tighter after the blonde spoke. His eyes were ice cold and sent a chill down her spine. She decided then that he definetly knew Harper and Jackson from the compound but she still didn't understand why they were so desperate to find out whether Peeta had been behaving himself or not.

"I don't know why you're being so silent all of a sudden," Jackson said. "From what I recall you'd normally have too much to say."

"Yeah, when there wasn't a strip of duct tape across his face," Harper muttered.

The scowl returned to Katniss' face. She didn't understand how they could speak so crudely about someone who was literally _right there_. Peeta didn't seem bothered though. He observed both women with calculating eyes as if trying to predict what they'd do next; what their next move was. Jackson caught the disapproval on Katniss' face and tilted her head at her.

"Surely you don't mind," she said. "I mean, males aren't people, right?"

Katniss clenched her fists and gritted her teeth together, turning the corners of her mouth up into a tight smile. "Obviously," she said.

"Believe it or not Miss. Everdeen, we used to have young Mellark here trained like a good little puppy," Harper said. She quirked an eyebrow at Peeta. "I don't know how much of it he remembers but there was a time when all we had to do was say one word to get him to work."

Peeta clenched his jaw and Katniss worried for his well-being. It was easy enough for her to sit here and lie but he was basically staring his time in the Capitol Compound in the face. She worried that he'd have a mental breakdown if they said the wrong thing. Katniss knew how hard it could be to face the past and it was hard. She knew from experience.

"How's the hijack these days?" Jackson suddenly asked. Peeta's eyes widened and he stood up away from the wall. The word had stirred something in him.

"Fine," he answered, breaking his silence. Jackson smirked.

"I knew that'd get you talking," she said.

"Wait, what's hijack?" Katniss asked, confused.

"It's a disease," Harper explained. "Mr. Mellark was born with it and as he grew up in the compound it just kept getting worse and worse. Caused great difficulty for us I must say."

"What is it though? How does it effect you?" Katniss questioned.

Jackson opened her mouth to answer but Peeta got there before her, "Don't you dare," he said. "It's none of Katniss' concern."

"Oh there he is!" Jackson said happily, nudging Harper. "There's the fire we've been looking for. Took longer than I thought it would but oh well, beggers can't be choosers." Katniss stiffened as the woman stood up and she felt compelled to do the same. Scrambling to her feet, she stood awkwardly by her seat as Jackson approached Peeta, stopping only when she stood inches away from him. "My, I have to say you haven't changed a bit."

"You've gotten older," Peeta replied quietly.

Jackson tsked. "Oh how lovely," she said sarcastically.

"How's the rebellion talk going?" Harper asked. "Still dreaming of the new society where everyone is equal and justice is real?" She spoke like these were fanciful ideas that could never come to stand.

"I think you already know the answer to that," Peeta answered.

"Oh what a horrifying world it would be if we didn't have men to work for us and an ass to grab when we're horny," Jackson said, pretending to swoon. "Believe me, we could cope just fine without you . . . _men._ But we were nice. Did you know that the first idea was for you all to become sex slaves only? To be kept in the dark only to come out when we needed a fuck? We were kind because that's what we women are. Kind."

Katniss bit down on the scoff she felt coming on when Jackson said that. Kind? What sort of fairytale land did _she_ live in?! Katniss wanted to ask but she knew she couldn't without blowing her cover of indifferent woman who didn't give a damn about slaves.

"You're lucky Jackson had a soft spot for you Mellark," Harper added. "If it had of been me, you wouldn't even be here. About a month after your mother dumped you back on us we'd had an offer from Glimmer Sparkles in District one. She had wanted you for her male escort business in her district. Didn't have a blond apparently. But _no_, Jackson here decided to decline the offer."

Peeta frowned. "And what? You want me to say _thanks_? I doubt you'd it'd be any different over there than the extra four months with you Jackson."

"There's escort businesses in different districts?" Katniss asked, her curiousity getting the better of her.

"Oh yeah," Harper replied. "You see that man who was shot recently? Mr. Odair? Previously from four. Was an escort for years. The man was a _god_."

"But he belonged to that Annie woman didn't he?" Katniss questioned.

"Well, yeah. But that's because Annie bought him for an _enormous_ amount of money and moved up here. Greedy bitch," Jackson explained. "Funny, I'd believed that you"-she poked Peeta in the chest-"could have been just as good as Mr. Odair."

"But sadly declining two offers in a row suggests emotional composition," Harper clarified. Katniss noticed that she said this with an edge to her tone. Maybe there was still a part of her that believed Jackson did have something with Peeta . . .

"I could have had you trained so perfectly!" Jackson wailed, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. "You could have been _amazing._ Like a blond Finnick Odair. All I needed was a little more time!"

"To do _what_ exactly Jackson?!" Peeta exclaimed. "You had the most unorthadox way of teaching where the only person who got anything out of it was _you!_"

"Aw, sounds like someone missed me," Jackson teased. Peeta burst out laughing at this.

"Oh yes Jackson of course!" he said sarcastically. "I've missed you so much!"

"I bet you did," Jackson replied flippantly. Katniss began to feel slightly agitated by the woman's attitude. She wanted to stand up for what she believed in, fight on Peeta's side, but she didn't know what the consquences of that would be.

"Believe me honey, I didn't," Peeta said, intimidating Jackson's horrid Capitol accent. "And I never will." Even Harper had to fight to suppress a smirk at his intimidation of her colleague.

"Watch it pretty boy, I'm _this _close to informing Miss. Trinket to duct tape your mouth again for a bit," Jackson hissed.

"You know what, _no_," Katniss snapped. "You can't talk to him like that!" Jackson looked at her in horror but Harper didn't look surprised.

"Stupid rookies," she sighed. "They never last long. I told you something was going on here Jackson!"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, whatever," Jackson sighed, rolling her eyes. She glared at Katniss. "People like you disgust me."

"People like _me?!"_ Katniss exclaimed. "People like _me!?"_

"You're a disgrace to our country," Harper said. "If I had my way you'd be sent to the Capitol to rot in a cell. But it says here you have a mental inability."

"Which means special treatment," Jackson scoffed in disgust.

"Leave her alone," Peeta said. "She doesn't know what she's talking about. Is there anything else you wanted or are we done here? I have washing to do." Jackson did the last thing Katniss was expecting to happen right there in the living room. She scratched him. Her claw like fingernails scraped three long scabs across Peeta's cheek that immediately began to drip blood.

"Remember you place Mellark," she snapped. "You're dismissed. Clean yourself up and finish your tasks."

Peeta glared-cupping his injured face-but did as he was told. He picked up the basket of clothes and turned to leave. Jackson stopped him at the door, running her hands slowly up his back to rest on his shoulders to pull him backwards to press against her. "Just remember," she said in a low voice. "I'd have no problem in having you sent back to the compound. There's always room for more escorts and Glimmer is still in need of a blond. Do you understand?"

There was a long pause before Peeta finally nodded is understanding. Jackson grinned and surprised Katniss by opening the door for him. "Good," she said. "Now get out of here while we talk to young Everdeen here." To punctuate the point, she slapped his backside. Peeta gritted his teeth and clutched the basket so hard his knuckles turned white.

Katniss ached to follow after him as he left, to make sure he was okay and to comfort him after this horrible encounter with Jackson and Harper.

"And now for you," Harper said, focusing her attention solely on Katniss. "Do you know how lucky you are?"

"How so?" Katniss asked.

"If it had of been anyone else, you'd have been arrested," Harper explained. "But you're lucky you're considered mentally disabled."

"An other option could have been that we took your slave off you. A mentally disabled girl exposed to a boy who has such rebellious thoughts can be dangerous," Jackson said. "But we didn't do that either."

"I don't care about what you could have done but didn't," Katniss replied. "Peeta's been bought, I'm learning my way, leave us alone."

"We're going to need proof that you're learning your way," Harper said.

"What? How?" Katniss frowned.

"Have a child," Jackson elborated. Katniss' heart dropped and she gulped. "With Mellark obviously. Prove to us that you're learning how to behave right or we'll take you and your slave back to the Capitol."

"H-How long have I got?" Katniss asked.

Jackson sighed, picking her nails. "A month," she said. "Or else."

A baby? Like a real baby? Katniss felt dizzy and had to grab hold of the fireplace to steady herself.

"Oh, and did we mention, that you cannot tell Mellark about this," Harper added.

Katniss was hit by a wave of nausea and she wrapped an arm around her stomach. To prove herself she had to have a baby with Peeta or she'd spend the rest of her days in a Capitol cell rotting away while Peeta was trained to become an escort? No, she couldn't let that happen to him . . .

She was so overwhelmed that her knees crumpled out from underneath her and black spots appeared in her vision.

"We'll be back in one month Miss. Everdeen," she vaguely heard Harper said. "If you don't have a baby by then then, I can assure you, you'll be taking a trip to the Capitol."

The last thing Katniss remembered was bone chilling laughter before she passed out.

_**A/N: Duh, duh, duh! :D**_

_**Please R&R! :D**_


	15. Chapter 14

_**A/N: I'm on fire with this story! :D **_

_**Enjoy!**_

_**Warnings: Self harm and mentions of experimentation on humans! :O**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games! Damn it! **_

Chapter Fourteen

A baby. A baby. A baby.

Katniss could not have a baby.

It was the one rule she had. Do not, under any circumstances, get pregnant. Katniss knew that she couldn't have kids because she didn't want to bring a baby into such a broken world. What if the baby was a boy? She wouldn't be able to live with the guilt of being responisble for creating another soul to be tortured into the submission of slavery. And having a girl probably wouldn't be any better since she'd be forced to raise her daughter on the basis that men deserve what they're getting.

That was something Katniss wasn't capable of.

But . . . if she didn't . . . they'd send Peeta back to the compound. Katniss didn't care if they sent her to the Capitol to die alone and scared in a cell but she did not want Jackson and Harper returning to take Peeta back to the Compound. She didn't want Peeta to suffer any more than he already has.

Which meant that she had to get herself pregnant.

Katniss came to the decision to go to Johanna Mason when she realized she had honestly no idea how she was going to go about getting pregnant. Of course, she obviously knew how sex worked from lessons at school but how she was going to do it herself was beyond her.

"So the stupid one returns," Johanna mused as Katniss took a seat in her living room. "What can I do for you Kat?"

Katniss swallowed the lump in her throat. "I want to have a baby." Johanna choked on her tea and stared at Katniss in shock.

"You're kidding right?" she asked. Her eyes widened when she saw the serious look on Katniss' face. "Well, shit. So why did you come to me then?"

"I don't know how to do it," Katniss said.

"You don't know how to get pregnant?" Johanna asked slowly.

"No, I understand the dynamics but . . . I don't know how to get the . . . _slave_ . . . to comply with my demands," Katniss answered, internally wincing. Johanna regarded her curiously.

"You've changed a lot," she said. "Last time I saw you you were a blundering child and now you're asking me to tell you how to get your slave to fuck you?" Katniss didn't like the vulgar use of the word but she just nodded, deciding it was best just to ignore it.

Johanna leant forward on the couch, bracing her elbows on her knees, and grinned. "Well you're lucky," she said. "Shouldn't be too difficult. From what I've heard of your slave's past he's pretty used to getting fucked without much reason. Most likely he'll just let you do what you want. I mean, it's the way he should be trained."

Katniss tilted her head. "What do you know of the slave's past? No one seems to trust me with the information . . . not even him."

Johanna cocked her head and pursed her lips. "What do you want to know?"

"How much do you know?"

"Enough." Johanna put her tea cup down on the coffee table. "Effie has informed me of things the trainers had told her. Which is both a little and a lot."

"Do you know why his mother sent him back to the compound?" Katniss asked, avidly curious. She had to admit that she'd be lying if she said she wasn't curious about Peeta's past.

Johanna frowned. "Why is that relevant?"

"I don't know," Katniss replied. "You tell me." Johanna eyed her suspiciously, sizing her up and wondering what her motives were for demanding one minute for sex advice and asking about her slave's past the next.

"Brunt bread," she finally stated. "The boy brunt bread."

Katniss' heart soared and sank at the same time. It soared from the sheer joy of knowing that her hunch had been correct and that it had, indeed, been Peeta who'd thrown her the brunt bread all those years ago but sank because realization finally dawned on her that it was her fault that he'd been sent back to the compound. Because she'd decided to die under his apple tree and he decided that he couldn't let that happen. It was her fault.

"You be careful now," Johanna said.

"What?" Katniss frowned.

"That boy isn't right in the head," Johanna replied.

"What makes you say that?" Katniss asked almost defensively.

"He's hijacked," Johanna stated. "What else could there possibly be to say?"

"What's 'hijacked'?"

Johanna sighed and leant back on the couch, folding her arms. "It's a disease that affects the brain. It's not hereditary and you can't catch it. You're just . . . born with it."

"What does it do?" Katniss asked. "I mean, to the brain?"

"Depends on how mixed up you are. It brings memories to the forefront of your mind that normal people would have kept locked away. It makes you live in those memories at random times. Everything else shuts down and you get locked in your mind, struggling through the battle of your own head," Johanna explained. "When a slave is born with hijack it normally dissipates as they get older but, in your slave's case, it's only gotten worse."

"Why?" Katniss frowned.

"Nobody knows," Johanna shrugged. "The only way having hijack can worsen is if they're exposed to a high dosage of tracker jacker venom."

Katniss fingered the material on the leather seat she sat on, her eyebrows burrowing in confusion. "You mean the sting of those wasps?"

"They're not wasps," Johanna sighed. "They're tracker jackers. And yes, that's what tracker jacker venom is."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You want to have a baby, correct?" Johanna asked. Katniss sighed and nodded minutely. "Intercourse with that boy could stir something. I don't give out warnings to just anyone girl but I'm deadly serious when I say that you need to watch yourself."

"What would happen if it did? Stir something, I mean?" Katniss asked.

"Depends on the memory it beings forward. Judging by the way that clingly woman Jackson gets on sometimes I'd say that forcing yourself completely onto the slave might bring something awful forward. Throw him back into a memory he'd react violently to," Johanna explained.

"I thought you supported this sort of thing," Katniss frowned. "'If it turns you on, jump it's bones'? Isn't that your motto or something?"

"No, my motto is 'don't let it pass, grab it's ass'," Johanna replied. "But that's beside the point. Sure, I support Coin and the way she runs the country but I don't like to see a perfectly innocent-if a little naive-girl injured or even worse _killed_ because of a silly disorder her slave has." She looked at Katniss seriously. "Be careful."

~xXx~

It was the muttering she heard first. As Katniss approached the basement doors, she heard frantic muttering behind it. Effie was in the living room, painting her nails, so Peeta was the only one behind those doors. Talking to himself.

Katniss hadn't thought to go and see him after Jackson and Harper left. She had just went straight to Johanna's house to seek help on what she should do to get pregnant. Now that she knew about Peeta's mental stability, maybe this hadn't of been the best decision she'd ever made.

She grabbed the door handle and pulled the basement doors open, quickly hurrying down into basement. She shut the doors behind her and quickly switched the light on. The muttering was clearer now and her eyes scanned the room quickly to try to locate Peeta.

"Peeta?" Katniss called softly. "Peeta! Where are you?"

"_Not real_," a voice whispered

"What?" Katniss frowned, looking around.

"_It's not real._" The voice continued to repeat this over and over again, as if saying some ancient mantra to assure themself of something. Katniss' eyes continued to scan the area until they landed on a small figure hunched over in the corner

"Peeta?" Katniss asked. "Is that you?"

"Not real," the figure continued to say. They were starting to sound a bit manic and Katniss began to worry. She approached the person in the corner and as she did so it became clearer that the person was, indeed, Peeta.

His eyes were wide and frantically darted everywhere around the room as if staring at unseen things that weren't really there. The three long nail scratches on his cheek were scabbing over with long streaks of blood dried into his skin. There was also similar stratches along his arms only these ones seemed to have been self inflicted as both his hands clawed at his arms even now as Katniss watched him.

"Peeta? What's wrong?" she knelt down in front of him and tried to pull his hands off of himself.

"Not real. Not real." Peeta wasn't even looking at her, as if she wasn't even there. "Not real."

"Hey!" Katniss said, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes. He didn't even blink. Katniss took his face into her hands and forced him to look at her. "What's wrong? What's happened?" His eyeballs were blown into golfballs and Katniss could barely see the bright blue she had grown so fond of. What was wrong?

_"Everything else shuts down and you get locked in your mind, struggling through the battle of your own head."_

"Are you going through the hijacking thingy?" she asked. "Has Jackson and Harper brought memories back?"

"Not real," Peeta repeated. His eyes locked on her and his face melted into an expression of panic. He pushed himself backwards away from her and pressed his back against the wall. "Not now Jackson, _please,_" he begged. "I've done everything you asked, can't you give me at some time to at least get some rest?"

"What? Peeta, Jackson's gone. She left like an hour ago with Harper," Katniss said. She reached forward to touch him but he slapped her hands away, cowering futher into the wall as if she was attempting to hurt him.

"Please Jackson, I'm _exhausted_. I'm going to pass out if you do any more," Peeta replied, covering his face with his hands.

Katniss panicked. He thought she was Jackson. She didn't know how to deal with this. Effie bought him, maybe she was informed on how to fix hijack episodes when she chose him. "Peeta, listen to me, I'm going to get Effie. I think she knows how to-"

"No!" Peeta lurched forward and grabbed her by her shoulders. Katniss gasped as his nails dug into his skin and recoiled when she saw his wide, terrified eyes. "Don't give me the venom! Please don't! I promise I'll behave!"

"I'm just getting Effie Peeta, I promise." Katniss tried to sound soothing but she was getting scared. What was she going to do?!

"I'll do whatever you want Jackson, I swear!" Never mind Katniss being scared, Peeta looked petrified of whatever he thought Katniss-or, in his head, Jackson-was saying.

Katniss took Peeta's face into her hands again and moved so that their noses were inches from each other. "Peeta, listen to me. Are you listening? It's Katniss. Not Jackson. I need you to listen to my voice and try to get out. Come back to me, please."

Peeta twitched, recognising her momentarily. Katniss didn't want him to slip back into the hijacked mode so she yanked his face forward and pressed her lips against his. It wasn't like when she hit him and kissed him to make herself feel better about it. It was different. As soon as her lips touched Peeta's, she felt him come back. She actually _felt _him return to her.

And he kissed her back.

It was everything a kiss shouldn't be. Soft, gentle, comforting. Well, when it's said it was everything it shouldn't be, the kiss was everything that kisses shared between slave and owner shouldn't be. Normal kisses were meant to devour, to take what's given with greed. To treat the slave like an never ending supply of water and you haven't drank in weeks.

Peeta pulled away first and Katniss wasn't sure whether she was disappointed about this or not. She was immediately back on him though, palming his face and brushing his hair back to get a full look at his face. "You're fine now, right? You're okay, you're back?" she kept asking over and over again, barely giving him a chance to respond.

"Katniss," Peeta said, trying to grab her hands that where checking him over everywhere. She didn't stop though. "Katniss-"

"Your arms!" Katniss exclaimed. She grabbed his arm and examined the stratches that tore their way up to his biceps. "How did you manage that? You're bleeding!"

"Katniss-"

"Oh my god I need to get bandages or something!" Katniss declared, jumping off the ground and turning to run to the kitchen. Peeta grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to the floor. She looked at him, startled.

"Katniss, I'm fine," he said, lightly slapping her hands away when she tried to check over his arms again. He examined her like she did him, his face etched with concern. "I didn't hurt you did I?" he asked quietly.

"No," Katniss replied. Not seeming to believe her, Peeta checked her over again. "Peeta, honestly, you didn't hurt me. I should be the one worrying about you! What was that? I was worried! You kept calling me Jackson. Kept thinking _I _was Jackson."

"It's nothing," Peeta replied, his gaze dropping to the floor. Katniss didn't believe it for a second.

"Was it the hijack?" she asked. "I know what it does Peeta and I want to help."

"You can't help," Peeta replied sadly. "I'm sorry for what happened. You weren't supposed to see that."

"How far would it have went though? If I hadn't of came in? You were self harming yourself Peeta!" Katniss exclaimed.

"Sometimes pain keeps me grounded," Peeta stated, examaining his arms which were still bleeding. "Helps me come back."

"But it didn't," Katniss said softly. She took her jacket off and tried to use the cotton to wipe away some of the blood. Peeta pulled his arm away and looked at her jacket curiously. "Don't worry. It's old." He sighed and reluctantly let her dab at the blood. "What brought you back, if the hurting didn't?"

"I heard . . . your voice . . . instead of hers for a moment," Peeta explained. "And when you kissed me . . . it was too gentle to be her as well. It was you who brought me back."

Katniss smiled at the thought. Then frowned. "You said something. When I said I was going to get Effie. You said 'don't give me the venom'. What did you mean by that?"

Peeta shifted uncomfortably where he sat. He didn't look her in the eye anymore and that worried Katniss. She tapped his chin up and took his hands.

"Please tell me, I want to try to help," she said.

Staring still at their clasped hands, Peeta sucked in a shaky breath and exhaled. "Jackson's sector in the compound . . . it wasn't just for learning how to be desirable or how to pleasure a woman. That's what Jackson has most people thinking it's for."

"Then what is it?"

"Jackson's a scientist. She experiments on disobident slaves to examine their thoughts patterns and develop a compliance serum that works on the brain to make said slave well behaved and happy to serve."

"She experiments on slaves?" Katniss was horrified. She knew there was something evil about the blonde woman but . . . this? Her eyes widened in realization at what Peeta was talking about. "Did she experiment on you?"

Peeta nodded. "She'd been looking for a challenge and someone born with hijack was just what she needed. She tested how bad the disease was for me when I first arrived and then kept giving me doses of Tracker Jacker venom to make it worse. Eventually it came to the point where she'd just give it to me if I didn't do what she asked or didn't behave. According to some of the other people she'd worked on who'd been at the compound long before I even arrived said that she used to favour and groom Finnick Odair before he was bought into the D4 escort business and just wanted someone else to pet. I guess I was just a sitting duck . . . being perfect for her stupid experiments and all."

"Is it even legal to experiment on human beings?" Katniss asked.

"Katniss once you're taken into the compound you're stripped of your rights. Well, not that we started off with any rights at the begninng but that's besides the point. The trainers and peacekeepers, law abiders and scientists, can all do what they wish with us."

"How many of these episodes have you had since Effie bought you?"

Peeta looked up at the ceiling. "A couple," he said.

"And you suffered them alone?" Katniss asked.

"The midges have been nice company," Peeta replied. "I even made friends with a rat."

"That makes it final then. I'm moving down here," Katniss concluded. "I'll tell Effie I'm down here to ravage your brains out or something. Who knows what you'll do to yourself next time."

"Katniss, you don't have to-"

Katniss yanked on their hands so that their faces were inches from each other's. "I want to," she insisted. "We're in this together."

"Together?"

"Together," Katniss confirmed. "You'll let me stay, won't you?"

Peeta smiled. So genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness. "Always."

_**A/N: So, does anyone hate Jackson yet? **_

_**Please R&R! :D**_


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

"It's just a walk," Katniss stated as she walked down the road. "Is this really nessecary?" Peeta's footsteps followed a couple of metres behind her, in sync with her own steps. It didn't take long for the cellar to become stuffy and small, making her in desperate need for some air. Of course, with her new found discovery of Peeta's episodes, she didn't want to leave him alone.

But, according to him, he could only walk with her if he followed behind her.

"It's either this, or a leash. And I pray you're not a leash person," Peeta replied. Katniss frowned at the pavement ahead of her.

"I'm not, don't worry," she said. "Effie? Maybe. She's always wanted a puppy to walk . . ."

Peeta groaned. "Oh God I can see it now. Knowing Miss Trinket it's probably a hot pink collar with little sparkly diamonds studded around it."

Katniss couldn't help laughing. "Yeah, that sounds like her." They neared the main sqaure, where Peeta got whipped for throwing the sponge at the Law Abiders, and she stopped at the top of the hill, noticing the amount of people swarming around. It was an aburpt stop, so Peeta banged into her back.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His breath brushed across her neck and she suppressed a shiver.

"We can't go down there," she said. "I did something . . . something I shouldn't have . . . and now they all know."

Katniss couldn't imagine going down there after what happened with Rory. There was bound to be women down there who remembered her and who knows what they'd do if they saw her again.

Another thing was that she still needed to tell Peeta that she had to get pregnant in a month which just piled onto the stress.

"What . . . what did you do?" Peeta asked.

She ran a frustrated through her hair and moaned. "I helped a slave to his feet. I wasn't thinking. He . . . he was just a child and he fell and . . . and I helped him up. The women saw and they pelted us with fruit. They'll hate me now."

"You helped him up?"

"I know, I wasn't thinking. I was stupid-"

"Katniss, do you realize what this could mean?"

"No, what?"

There was a pause and Katniss could tell that Peeta was suddenly distracted by something. Not caring about having to kept him behind her, she turned and asked, "What? What's wrong?" He was looking past her, down into the square. Instead of responding verbally, he lifted his hand and pointed.

"What's that?"

Frowning, Katniss turned back around and followed the line of where he was pointing. Down in the sqaure, at the far end, there's a brick wall that seperates the market area from another estate. The wall was normally covered in a thin layer of coal dust but now it was clean. So clean that Katniss could make out the bright red colour of the bricks.

But that wasn't the problem. There was something black on the wall as well. Something she could make out. Curious, Katniss ran down the hill, forgetting about the woman hating her and consumed in the wonder of what the black was. She pushed through the crowd that had gathered around the wall and stumbled out at the front.

The black was . . . words. Scratched in graffitti across cement bricks was a phrase. A phrase that made her heart drop into her stomach.

_**WE ARE NOT YOUR SLAVES**_

_**~THE MEN OF 12**_

"Oh my God," she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. It was then she noticed that there was no men what-so-ever in the square. Katniss backed up from the wall and bumped into Peeta, who caught her as she stumbled.

The women around them chattered fearfully.

"Is it a strike?"

"Have they gone mad?"

"Should we call the abiders?"

A movement out of the corner of her eye dragged Katniss' attention away from the wall and onto the platform in front of the Justice Building. It was a stone podium flanked by two staircases on each side to get up to it. The movement was a slave climbing up the steps with a microphone obviously stolen off one of the Law Abiders.

Gale Hawthorne.

Rory's brother.

When he reached the center of the podium, a blonde girl emerged from the Justice Building. Her hair flowed past her shoulder in silky waves and her blue eyes pierced the crowd judgmentally. Gale handed her the microphone and she thanked him with a smile. Holding the mike up to her blood red lips, she spoke.

"We are looking for Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark," she stated in a melodic voice. Katniss' eyes widened and she felt Peeta slip his hand into hers, squeezing it reassuringly. The blonde girl's eyes scanned the crowd and when they landed on Peeta and herself, she smiled. "I repeat, we are looking for Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. Don't worry, you're not in trouble. Come on, don't be shy."

Katniss didn't realize her feet was moving until she noticed Peeta was walking ahead of her, his hand still in hers. The crowd parted for them both, the women seeming too shocked to speak or stop them. Katniss couldn't comprehend what was happening and almost stumbled on the steps up to the podium. Peeta turned around and steadied her though. She was thankful he was there or she'd have already attempted to run for it.

As soon as they'd made it to the top of the steps, the blond girle began to speak again. "My name, for those of you who don't know, is Madge Undersee. And I have been fighting for the rights of males for five years now and I would just like to inform you that we are going to win the fight that has now been inciated."

The crowd was stunned. Only one woman caught on and whipped out her phone, dialling the number for the law abiders.

"They are not you slaves!" Madge shouted into the microphone. She quickly turned around and made a face. "We've done it now," she muttered, ushering Katniss and Peeta into the Justice Building.

Katniss realized with a start that there wasn't a single woman inside the building. It was all men, working at the reception desks, walking around, treating the wounded. Gale melted into the group, walking out a door at the back. "What's going on?!" Katniss exclaimed.

Madge smiled, leading them up the stairs to a small office on the second floor. "Yesterday morning the slaves claimed control of the Justice Building, kicking the women inside out and solidizing the place as their own," she explained. "It seems your little spectacle in the square has sparked up a fight in them. They're not going to take it any more. They're going to fight back."

Katniss felt dizzy and had to sit down. "But I didn't . . . I didn't do anything. I just helped the boy up!"

The blonde nodded. "And that's all it took," she said. "There was stirrings anyway . . . all it needed was a push."

"What does this mean then?" Peeta asked.

"A rebellion. In 12 anyway. We're hoping to expand it."

Katniss shook her head in disbelief. "It can't just _happen!_ If the slaves took control of the Justice Building, wouldn't the authorities have already done something to stop it?"

Madge sat down on the edge of the mahogany desk in the middle of the room and shrugged. "The Capitol didn't believe it was possible. Just in case though they sent two of their best people to check it out." She glanced down at a sheet of paper on the desk. "Jackson and Harper. I trust you've met them?"

Katniss' blood ran cold and a shiver jumped down her spine. She nodded mutely. "But they said-"

"I know," Madge interuppted. "They were here for him. They are. Partly." She turned her attention to Peeta. "You spoke of rebellion, yes? From when you were in the compound?" Katniss turned to Peeta and waited for his response.

"Yes, I did," he said.

Madge smiled. "Good. Because it worked. Not only did Miss Everdeen's actions aiding the boy helped but when the slaves in the Compound got wind of it, they used your words to convince others to join. The Capitol has been thrown into diaster. They aren't telling the Districts because it would just make things worse. Uprisings and what not. That's why Jackson and Harper went to you two. To threaten you to stay in place because they know you're the biggest problem right now. The catalysts."

Katniss' eyes widened. "Catalyst? Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. I can't be a catalyst, I can barely speak out in debate class!"

"If you don't want to speak, you don't have to. It's Mr. Mellark we need more anyway. We just need to protect you from the crossfire," Madge said. "It was your actions, and Mr. Mellark's words that began all this."

"It's still not the point! Effie would kill me!"

"Um, Madge, Miss Undersee, can I speak to Katniss for a moment?" Peeta asked.

Madge sighed and nodded. Taking papers of the desk, she brushed past them and exited the room. Katniss sat back in her seat, her arms folded, and huffed. "I can't do this Peeta," she said. "You don't know what's at stake if we do."

"What do you mean?" Peeta frowned.

"Jackson and Harper . . . they're . . . they're crazy!"

Peeta scoffed. "You think I don't know that already?"

"No," Katniss said. "Of course you did. What I mean is that Madge is right. They did threaten me. And it's sure as hell enough to make me keep my mouth shut!" There was a pause and Peeta sat down on the seat beside Katniss.

"What did they say to you?" he asked.

Katniss shrugged helplessly. "If I don't get pregnant by you within the month they're going to take you back to the compound and . . . arrest me." She refused to look at Peeta after she'd spoken and stared at her fidgeting hands.

"Oh Katniss," Peeta sighed. He took her chin and forced her to look at him. "Don't you see? If we do this then all this could end. The threats, the punishments, forcing people to the compound . . . all of it, gone. Can't you see?"

She shook her head. "I can't," she whispered.

"Believe me Katniss, it'd all end."

"Things like this don't just end."

Peeta smiled, his eyes sparkling. "Doesn't mean we can't try."

"FUCK!" someone shouted from outside. Madge burst into the room, panting for breath. "You've got to see this," she said. The three of them ran down the stairs and went back outside the podium in front of the building.

Standing in the middle of the podium was Jackson and Harper. They hadn't changed at all since their visit to Effie's house. Same clothes, same smiles . . . everything. Katniss grinded to a halt as soon as she saw them, Peeta and Madge stopping a couple of metres behind her.

"Wh-what do you want?" she asked them.

Jackson curled her lip. "For you to hand over the Justice Building," she sneered. "Or else."

"Or else what?" Madge demanded.

Both women parted and standing between them was Rory Hawthorne. The boy Katniss had helped up. "Or else we take the boy," Harper said.

"Rory!" Gale screamed, bursting out of the Justice Building and going to make a run for his brother. Madge had to stop him, holding him back with surprising strength.

"Don't bring Rory into our conflict," Katniss said fearfully. "It wasn't his fault I helped him up. Don't blame him, please!"

Jackson rested her hand on Rory's shoulder, her nails digging into his skin. The boy's face expressed fear. He looked frightened out of his mind. "Then stop this ridiculous show right now!"

"No!" Madge yelled, despite Gale protests. She spun around and threw him to the ground, hard. "Don't be an idiot Gale! We'll get him back, but we're not giving up! Not now when we're so close!"

"Just give us Rory," Katniss said. She glanced back nervously at Madge. "We're not stopping the rebellion but . . . take me instead! You can lock me up in the Capitol if you want! Just don't hurt Rory!"

Harper pursed her lips and sighed. "Fine. A hostage's a hostage."

Katniss nodded and took a step forward, but before she could go any further, someone grabbed her arm and threw her into Madge's arms. She yelped and Madge shrieked from the shock. Gale rushed forward and caught his brother as he was pushed forward. He hugged him tight and didn't let the boy go.

When she recovered from the push, she whirled around and gasped as Peeta stood beside Jackson, his mouth right by her ear as he whispered something into it. Harper stood by, watching curiously. The words were having some sort of effect on Jackson, as she smiled gruesomely and licked her lips.

After a moment, Jackson snapped her fingers and Peeta stopped talking. "Fine," she said. "I'm sure they don't need you that much anyway. What could _you_ do to help?"

"Peeta?" Katniss said cautiously.

"Katniss, everything's going to be okay," Peeta said. Katniss barely heard him as she watched Jackson take his arm and hold it possessively.

"Peeta," Madge said, her tone bodering on warning. "What are you doing?"

Ignoring her, Peeta's eyes stayed firmly on Katniss. "I believe in you," he said. Harper scowled and Jackson started walking away, taking him with her. Everything was happening so fast that Katniss' head began spinning.

"Peeta!" Katniss yelled. "No!" She went to run after them but Gale stopped her, holding her back. "Let me go! Peeta!" She struggled helplessly in Gale's arms as the Capitol women dragged Peeta away, disappearing into the crowd of onlookers, most likely heading for the train station. "You can't take him! Take me instead!"

When she could no longer see them, she broke down and started to sob. She turned around in Gale's hold and started hitting him where-ever her hands could find purchase. "Let me go! I have to get him! Let me help him! Let me help Peeta!"

Vaguely, she heard Madge saying to one of the slaves,

"She's all we have now. She's going to have to lead the rebellion."

Then everything went dark.

_**A/N: So sorry for the delay guys! I hope it was worth the wait!**_

_**Please R&R! :)**_


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Katniss sat stiffly in the chair in Madge's makeshift office. She'd awoken ten minutes previous to shouting and racket. As soon as her eyes had opened, the blonde girl had grabbed her hand and dragged her her into the room she used as an office. Her head was spinning and she felt nauseated but Madge didn't seem to care.

"You are now the voice," she said. "You have to lead the movement."

Katniss looked at her stiffly. "Why me?" she asked, her voice rough from sleep.

"Because we don't have Mellark anymore," Madge answered. "You're all we have now. The girl who helped the slave to his feet. Believe me, we'd rather have your slave than you."

Katniss balled her fists and gritted her teeth. "He's not my slave," she said. "I thought someone like you would know that. His name is Peeta. If I hear you call him slave one more time then I refuse to help you or your cause."

Madge pursed her lips. "I apologize," she said. Katniss didn't want to accept the apology because her words were full of acid but she decided it was the best she was going to get.

"What are Jackson and Harper going to do with him?" Katniss asked.

"Why does it matter?"

"Because I want to know."

The blonde laughed and shook her head. "No, you really don't."

The answer worried Katniss. She didn't like it. Why wouldn't she want to know what they were going to do with Peeta in the Capitol? Surely they were just going to put him back into the Compound until things were fixed, right? If Madge thought Katniss didn't want to know what was going to happen up there . . . what were they going to do to him?

"How do we stop them from hurting him?" she asked.

"Depends on whether you're going to help us or not," Madge said. Katniss scowled and crossed her arms.

"Depends on what you want me to do," she said.

Madge leaned forward so her elbows rested on the mahogany desk that sat between them. "When we called upon you and . . . Peeta, we were looking for someone with the voice to bring everyone to the realization of our wrongs. But we don't have that anymore. Mr. Mellark could have helped us end this within a month with the words he could string together out of nothing."

That had to be an exaggeration, surely.

"In the Capitol Compound he managed to upstart a revolt in his sector," Madge continued. "They all just . . . stopped. When Jackson had taken Peeta off into the P&P floor with the duct tape on his mouth-"

"How do you know about that?" Katniss asked. Madge smiled and gestured to the shelves of files on the wall to their left.

"Justice Building records," she said. "Anyway, when Jackson bumped him up a level simply for standing up for his friend who was dying, the slaves in his old sector revolted. They stopped working and began reciting phrases that they'd heard Mr. Mellark say in the past."

"What happened? To them, I mean," Katniss asked.

"What happened?" Madge repeated. "75% of them died. Well, were killed for their disobidence. The other 25% were tortured for the defiance. I believe Mr. Mellark still holds those people's lives in his conscience."

"He never told me about that," Katniss said.

Madge frowned. "Would you?"

How much more hadn't he told her? How much of Peeta's past had he hidden from her? How had she never thought to ask more? Why had she never thought to try and discover more? How hard must it be to have the lives of hundreds of slaves on your mind everyday?

"Mellark's only weakness was his compassion," Madge sighed. "Maybe if he was just that little bit tougher he wouldn't have taken your place to be taken away."

Katniss was slightly offended. Was Madge saying that she'd rather that she was taken to the Capitol over Peeta? Then again, Katniss would have rathered that as well.

"And now we've got you," Madge deadpanned. "And we're going to have to turn you into something big. Something brave. Something massive."

Katniss scoffed. "And how are you planning to do that, huh?"

Madge stood up. "Well, we don't know that yet," she said. "We're still working on it." She left the office, leaving Katniss alone to drown in what she'd just been told.

She found herself being angry. At Peeta, for taking her place. At herself, for not fighting harder to save him. At Gale, for holding her back. At Madge, for thinking for one second that she could start a rebellion over the male slaves. Over the one thing that been in the country for a hundred years. How could she possibly bring an end to that?

Katniss shifted in her seat and heard something crinkle in her pocket. Frowning, she slipped her hand into the pocket and pulled a crumpled piece of paper. Had that always been in there?

She unfolded it and found a message written across it.

_You're not starting a rebellion, you're leading a revolution._

_Be the Mockingjay._

_~P_

When had he put that in her pocket? Surely not recently. These jeans had been in the wash recently, did he put the message in her pocket then? But he didn't know that there was going to be all this a couple of days ago. A couple of days ago everything was normal. Everything was okay. A couple of days ago no one was thinking about rebellion.

Apart from him.

He had always believed in her.

This alone brought tears to her eyes and Katniss wiped them away quickly. She was not a crybaby. She refused to get over emotional about a scrap of paper. A voice at the back of her head told her that it wasn't just a scrap of paper. It was solid proof that Peeta had always knew that she was going to have to be the one who started the rebellion.

Only she wasn't.

She was the one who'd have to lead the revolution.

It was then she knew what she had to do.

Katniss pushed back from her chair and left the office. Her feet thumping against the stairs echoed as the reception area of the Justice Building grew silent around her. Every eye, every gaze, every stare burned into her skin as she walked across the glossy white floor to the double doors at the front of the building.

She was blinded by flashes as she emerged back out onto the platform in which mere hours ago, Peeta was taken from her. Camera crews had appeared in 12, newsreporters everywhere discussing the revolt in 12. But as soon as she had stepped out of the building, every single one turned to her. For a moment, Katniss froze. Right now, every woman-and maybe some men too-where looking at her on their television screens. She was on the emergency news channel live, everywhere, right this moment.

Her mind went back to the day on the balcony. When Peeta had first spoken to her. They'd discussed Shakesphere, of all things. They'd discussed Romeo and Juliet. The balcony scene. She'd sung to the mockingjay and it had repeated the song to Peeta. He'd praised her voice and she was shocked to realize that she didn't mind that he'd heard her.

"Do any of you even know what love means anymore?" Katniss found herself blurting out. She didn't know what possessed her to say that of all things but it seemed to capture the attention of the women in the crowd. "I mean, hundreds of years of this and not one of us seem to consider what it would be like to fall in love anymore. Why?"

She stepped forward and gestured around herself, at the Justice Building, at them, at the estates further beyond. "I was raised on the basis that men were bad. That they were the scum of the country and, sure, it's probably what everyone's been raised on but can anyone, right here, right now, tell me what they did wrong all those years ago to deserve this?"

To her surprise, no one did.

"The only man in my life when I was a child, was my father," Katniss said, her voice trembling at the mention of her dad. She hadn't spoken about him to anyone since he'd died. Not out loud anyway. "And he was the kindest person I'd ever met."

The woman before her pulled faces at the thought. It made Katniss feel angry. Because it was true, her father didn't do anything wrong, and he was kind and caring and he loved her very much. Who gave these people the right to judge what he was like just because of what gender he was?

No one, that's who.

"And, for another thing, if these men are so awful and cruel, who do I thank for being able to stand here. On this platform, right here, right now. Because if it wasn't for a man, I'd be dead," Katniss said. "That man they took to the Capitol as a hostage? He saved my life when I was a kid. I was going to die if it hadn't of been for him. Who do I thank for that? His mother for giving birth to him? Because, no offence, that's bullshit. His mother was a bitch, why should I thank her for anything when it was his actions that saved me, not hers?

"Now you're going around killing people for being in love? I don't understand it! And if I get one person saying that I'm mentally disabled for not understand it then I'm going to crack! I was top of my class in District 5, I won the spelling bee six years in a row, I helped my little sister with her calculus homework every night, I am not an idiot!"

Katniss couldn't stop herself now, she was too far into it.

She stood at the edge of the stage and held her arms out at her sides.

"I'am Katniss Everdeen and I'am the Mockingjay!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. She pointed right into the lens of a camera. "And if we burn, you burn with us!"

There was a pause as the crowd digested what she said. Katniss' chest was heaving up and down. She was unable to believe that it was her who had just said that. It was like someone took a hold of her voice and spoke for her. Like Peeta himself had guided her through it. She felt enpowered, strong, like she could do anything.

Then the ground beside her exploded.

The bang shattered her eardrums and Katniss' jumped backwards in horror. Someone had tried to shoot her! She scuttled backwards and pressed her back against the Justice Building, terrified. What had she done? Of course all she'd done was make them more angry, what had she expected?

Just when she was about to give up hope, a gun shot blown upwards from the middle of the crowd, sending people pushing backwards to clear a circle around the gun welder. Katniss squinted to see who it was, her mouth dropping open when she saw the brown haired girl with the baby bump fumbling with the pistol she'd stolen off the Law Abider at her feet who was clutching their head in pain.

Annie's eyes were wild, scanning the crowd in fear and she held the gun in her trembling hands. "You took Finn from me!" she screamed at them all. "You all took my Finn away from me!" Katniss felt a pang in her heart and she stepped forward again.

"Annie," she called. The girl looked at her and pointed the gun at her. Katniss shot her hands up in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you. We're on your side. Come over here, you'll be safe with us." She held her hands to the panicked girl and prayed that she wouldn't send a bullet through her brain.

Annie looked conflicted, like a thousand things were going on behind her glassy eyes, before stepping forward toward the platform. The crowd parted in fear of getting shot and let her pass. Katniss took the girl's hands and pulled her up to stand beside her. She held the girl close as she began to cry and shot a glare at the crowd.

"I promise you this," she said, her voice lowered, "there is at least one man for every woman in this country because it's required for everyone to have a slave. There's women out there who are in love but are too scared to speak out. We are going to get them up. Get them to join us. To join the revolution. And I'm giving you one warning, and one warning only, make sure you're on the right side when we win. And even if we don't, even if we fall, we're dragging you down with us!"

Without daring to look back, she turned and helped Annie back towards the Justice Building hideout. Her heart was going fast, faster than Katniss thought possible. She still couldn't believe that was her who had just spoken. Her mind was still fuzzy from the reality of it all when Madge enclosed her and Annie in a hug as soon as they stepped through the threshold of the building.

"Well done!" she said. "You've done it!"

"Done what?" Katniss asked. Surely they'd only see her as a crazy girl who went on a mad rant on t.v

Madge's grin was wide enough to catch a bee hive. "You've started it!"

Katniss didn't speak because she was too scared to face the truth of it. Madge sighed and shook her head.

"You've started the rebellion!"

Katniss was afraid that was what she was going to say.

_**A/N: I got someone telling me it would be good to have a Peeta POV it see what's going on with him in the Capitol, what do you think guys?**_

_**Please R&R! :D**_


	18. Chapter 17

_**A/N: Sorry for the long wait again guys, I've just got so much to work on! :-)**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games.**_

_**(This is in third person POV)**_

Chapter Seventeen

The reaction to Katniss' rant on t.v was almost instantious. Over twenty four hours after it was broadcast on the televisions of all the Districts in Panem, women started coming out of the cracks everywhere, women who were in love, in a secret relationship, or who just wanted the hardship to end, and started fighting. Of course, the slaves took a lot more convincing. To them, Katniss was just some crazy woman who had started screaming about equal rights in front of a Justice Building. Especially since she was a female, they thought that maybe it was a trap. A trap of the Capitol.

But Madge had prepared for this. She had sent out various agents before she took over the Justice Building. Male agents who had previously been slaves that had been abandoned and forced to live in the streets. She'd found a gap in the District fence several weeks back and used that fault to sneak the agents out. They spread out across Panem, ready for the news that the rebellion had been incited and if the slaves were apprehensive for whatever reason, they would work to convince them that it was real. That the rebellion was real. That they had to fight.

The Capitol was in a panic. There had been no agent that had been able to make it that far, the borders of the city being closed off to those who were not official citizens. Even though this had been true, there were still various people inside the Slave Training compound who'd remembered the blond man who'd spoke of rebellion, who'd spoke of rights. And they tried to fight back as well. For the slaves in the compound, it wasn't as easy. Law Abider's numbers were doubled and defense lines were put up on every single floor of the building. The slaves were apprehended and kept at bay, but the people in the Districts were not as easy to calm down.

Harper sat back in her plush chair on the train to the Capitol, watching her collegue as she completely lost it. The blonde wasn't much for paitence and hers had ran thin as soon as Katniss' rant was showcased everywhere.

"You better tell us what they're planning!" Jackson roared, pointing threateningly at their captive. Peeta didn't answer. He had been giving them the silent treatment ever since they took him. Ever since he'd whispered those words into Jackson's ear that convinced them to take him instead of Katniss. "You better answer or so help me you're going to regret it when we get back to the Capitol!"

It was if the woman's words meant nothing. Peeta barely flinched at the threat, staring back at her with defiant eyes. "Take it down a notch Jackson, we're not in the Capitol just yet," Harper warned, taking out her PDA and searching the news on the rebellious Districts. "25% of women are now rebelling in all Districts with all slaves."

"Oh goddamn it!" Jackson exclaimed. Her professionalism was long gone as she was completely frustrated with how Peeta could hold so strong. His will power was agitating, enough to have Jackson tearing at her hair. "Just . . . tell us before I do something I regret!"

"Jackson," Harper warned.

"What?!" Jackson shouted.

"Tone. It. Down."

Jackson clenched her jaw and breathed out of her nose. "Okay. I'm cool, I'm calm." She looked around the train compartment. "Where's the vial?"

"Bottom drawer," Harper said flippantly, her gaze once more focused on the PDA. Jackson was spitting angry and yanked open the bottom drawer of the giant chest that was propped up against the wall. She grabbed a black box out from it and pulled out a small injection vial full of blue liquid.

When she turned around, Peeta tensed, his eyes falling on the vial instantly.

"Oh so you recognize this, huh?" Jackson said. "At least you remember some things. Maybe you need a recap just to help jog your memory, huh? A couple doses of tracker jacker venom to get those cogs turning."

Harper peered over the PDA skeptically. "Not too much Jackson. We don't have enough man power to restrain him if it goes too far," she said. "One shot, that's it, alright?" Jackson's demeanour crumbled but she smiled fakely at the woman. "Plus, I don't think it's going to work."

"Good thing I didn't ask for your opinion then, isn't it?" answered Jackson acidly. Her gaze had been locked on Peeta the entire time whereas his eyes had followed the tracker jacker venom that was as sapphire as his iris'. "Do, pray tell, why you sacrificed your own freedom to help that . . . _girl,"_ Jackson spat the last word with distaste. "I understand they wanted you for the rebellion, not Miss Everdeen. So why come with us when you could have aided the cause much more than Katniss?"

Peeta still didn't look at her as he chuckled. "I wasn't about to let you take her Jackson. I know what you do with tratior girls. You did make me train with them, didn't you?" His voice was bored, if not slightly amused. He knew that when he acted like he knew more than they did then it would rile them up further. It was better having them riled up than having them relaxed. When Jackson's mood is mallable, she turns tranquil and handsy, like high on a drug of some sort.

"Yes, we did," Harper put in before Jackson could. "Traitor girls are used to help slaves learn how to fuck, simple as that. Yes, that would have been young Everdeen's fate and I can't say it wouldn't have been fun to steal her innocence but, no, instead you take her place. What I for one can't figure out is why? Why save some bratt you just met recently and return to the hell that you'd finally escaped from just for the sake of one girl?"

"Oh Harp, I think he's in love," Jackson cooed. She reached out and pinched his cheek. "Our little boy is all grown up." Peeta slapped her hand away with a scowl.

"Love in a world like this only goes so far," Harper said measuredly. "It doesn't reach the point of sacrifice or descision to do what is right. Even you should know this Mr. Mellark. A slave falling into unrequited love with a woman of higer status to you? How ridiculous."

Peeta clenched his jaw. "Katniss is different."

Jackson barked out a laugh and fell into the seat beside him. She slung an arm around his shoulders, the injector of tracker jacker venom pressed dangerously against his collarbone. Peeta fought back the urge to flinch but couldn't hold back the shudder of disgust he felt every time the woman touched him. "You don't believe that surely. With the right teachings I'm sure young Miss Everdeen would have turned into one of our best citizens. Maybe instead of defending you that day in the living room she'd have put the duct tape on that pretty little mouth of yours herself."

"Katniss wouldn't do that."

The sharp point of the needle pressed into his skin. Peeta stiffened. "Are you sure about that?" Jackson asked tauntingly.

"Yes," he replied.

Jackson laughed and stuck the needle into his neck, pushing down on the plunger to send the tracker jacker venom into his viens. Peeta winced, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides. "Of course Katniss is like everyone else, don't you remember? She duct taped you when you were mouthy and hit you when you misbehaved."

"No, she didn't," Peeta said through gritted teeth, fighting the pain that the tracker jacker venom caused. It made his mind turn fuzzy when he tried to think of Katniss, trying to decipher what was real or what wasn't. Was Jackson's words true or was his own initial instinct the right thing to believe in? _Always instinct_. But last time he'd followed his instinct, he'd nearly killed an innocent slave . . . _ never instinct_. But could he really trust Jackson of all people to find out the truth from?

"We're all on the right side here Peeta," Harper's voice rang out in his mind as he squeezed his eyes shut, plunging himself into darkness. He tried to bring up an image of Katniss in his mind, but instead of seeing the woman he was almost sure was really her, he saw a distorted version of her. She was dressed like Effie, in a bright pink skirt that hugged her legs and hips and reached below her knees and a jacket with puffed sleeves. Her hair was in it's loose plait, the braid stirring in the darkness behind her like some unknown wind was blowing through it.

Her face was contorted in anger: perfect eyebrows furrowed, smokey grey eyes narrowed and blood red lips curled up in disgust.

_"Look at you, you're patheic," _she hissed._ "Why would I waste my time with some lowly slave like you?"_

"She hates you Peeta," Jackson said softly. Peeta pushed himself away from her and held his head in his hands, shaking his head in disbelief.

"It's not real," he hissed. "It's the venom."

_"You're just some slave,"_ Katniss' voice rang out in his head._ "We are on completely different levels of status honey, you're only good for when someone needs something done."_

His head was starting to feel full and he clutched at his hair desperately, trying to hang onto something real, something he was sure was real and not just some illusion that was being hung before him by the venom. Jackson was beside him again, taking his head and softly putting it into her lap. He barely noticed, his eyes glued shut, trying to fight the war that was going on inside his mind, trying to assure himself that there was still the chance that she loved him like he knew he loved her.

_"Love?"_ Mutt Katniss scoffed. She flicked her hair back and looked down on him like he was a cockroach in her path. _"Why in the world would I love you? You're a slave! How ridiculous! You do know I was only humouring you right? Why you thought it was real I'll never know!"_

"No," Peeta murmered. His head was now pounding, aching from the strain of fighting. Jackson was enjoying watching his inner termoil, playing with his hair and brushing it from his face.

"Yes," she whispered. "She doesn't love you."

"I don't believe you!"

Harper bit her lip. "Be careful Jackson."

"It's alright," Jackson said. "I've got it under control. A couple more doses and we'll have just what we need to stop all this nonsense." Peeta had started to shudder, his face screwed up in pain, the occasional agonized groan escaping him. Jackson smiled as if watching a toddler taking it's first steps.

Harper examined the girl through her red hair that had fallen over her tired face in exhaustion. "And what is that, pray tell?" she asked. She was irritated that Jackson had already came up with a plan and hadn't tried to tell her about it. Jackson's ideas were normally very solid though and there was nothing she could but ask what the plan was.

Jackson smiled. A wide, malicious grin that made her bright scarlet lips stretch unnaturally across her face.

"Why, we'll have a warrior."

_**A/N: Uh-oh. That can't be good.**_

_**Please R&R! :)**_


	19. Chapter 18

_A/N: I am so sorry for the long wait guys! I'm just juggling so many stories at once I can barely keep up! I hope this chapter makes up for it!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games._

Chapter Eighteen

"I want to learn about Capitol punishment."

Madge looked astonished, her reading glasses slipping down her nose. She had been doing some paperwork in an office of the Justice Building. District 12 had went quiet, the citizens having been ordered to go home, law abiders and peacekeepers patrolling the streets, ready to shoot anyone who came out of the building, slave or otherwise.

"Why in the world would you want to learn about Capitol punishment?" she demanded to know.

"Because I want to know what they're going to do to him when they get him to the Capitol," Katniss said. "Because I'm sick of being kept in the dark."

Madge put her pen down and took her glasses off. "Do you think you could handle it?" she asked.

Katniss paused, wondering if she would be able to handle it. It had to be bad, if Madge had to ask that question. But the want to know what was going to happen to Peeta when Jackson and Harper got him to the Capitol overweighted the worry about whether her frame of mind was strong enough to control her emotions over what the Capitol did to punish slaves. "Yes, I can handle it," she said. "Just tell me what they're going to do."

"Take a seat."

Katniss slipped into the chair oppisote Madge, both of them seperated only by the giant mahogany desk. It hadn't even been 24 hours since Peeta had taken her place to be taken to the Capitol and Katniss was already past wanting him back to physically _needing_ him back. "Spare no detail. I don't want you walking around eggshells to save my sanity. I am not a child. Tell me everything."

"Think of it this way," Madge said. "If a slave broke a single egg on a farm in District 10, they would be tied to a tree trunk and whipped twenty times for their insolence. A single egg. Imagine what would happen those who dropped an entire carton. How many eggs are there in a carton, Katniss?"

"Um, six in a normal carton, nine in a jumbo," Katniss answered, already apalled with what she had been told. Was a single egg really worth the whipping of an innocent person where there could have been a simple apology instead?

"What is six multiplied by twenty?" Madge enquired. "Oh, while you're at it, multiple nine by twenty as well."

Maths being her best subject, Katniss answered almost instantly. "One hundred and twenty. And one hundred and eighty."

"Can you believe that? For a single carton of eggs that you can buy at a corner shop for less than two dollars?" Madge asked. "One hundred and eighty slashes across a slave's back for nine eggs. Nine eggs. Just think of it. If a slave can get whipped for something as simple as a single carton of eggs then what do you think they'd get for something worse?"

Katniss' mind went immediately to what Peeta had told her. About what had happened to him when he had defended a fellow friend in the compound. "They duct taped his mouth shut once because he talked too much. He was too defiant. They didn't hurt him. That's not as worse as whipping, is it?"

Madge shook her head. "No, as a matter of fact it isn't. But, as I'm lead to believe, sometimes when a slave is beaten too much, they die. Which I'm sure they can't afford to do with Mr. Mellark."

Eyebrows etched into a frown, Katniss asked, "And why is that?"

"Oh surely he's told you about his illness and it's value to Jackson and Harper?" Madge asked. "I believe it's called . . . hijack?"

Katniss remembered it well. Of how Jackson found the mental illness fascinating and experimented on anyone who had it, in Peeta's case, making it worse. "Yes, he told me."

"Now why would they risk killing someone who they needed for their experimentations? It would be stupid. Even then, even when he stood up to those guards, I persume that they couldn't risk killing him. So they duct taped him instead. Doesn't affect his physcial abilities or his ability to still obtain the hijack in his mind."

"Why is everyone so goddamn curious about hijack?! It's a mental illness not a medical miracle," Katniss said. "Surely it's not that fascinating."

Madge brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. "Honestly? I think Jackson likes him maybe a bit more than she should," she said. Katniss clenched her jaw and chewed the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. The comment annoyed her. "And you never want to catch the attention of a slave driver. Especially a Capitol one. If you catch the attention of a Capitol Slave driver then they could literally do anything. Do you, I wonder, know what Jackson specalizes in in the Compound, Katniss?"

Katniss shook her head. "No, I don't."

"P&P," Madge said. "The sector to teach how to pleasure a woman. How to make her have an orgasm and such." Katniss suddenly felt very sick as her stomach churned at the very thought of it. "Jackson was a teacher. Can you imagine? A teacher who taught such a topic having the hots for one of her pupils? I doubt that isn't also another way they punished him for comitting such acts as speaking out. And with duct tape on his mouth? Oh, she'd have some fun."

Katniss wasn't enjoying listening to this but she had to remember that she did say spare no detail. That was what Madge was doing. She was being blindingly blunt. "You're saying they enjoys watching them in pain?"

"You mean masochists? Oh yeah, the lot of them are," Madge replied. "Pain is their middle name. They get off on it. It makes them horny and they love it."

Katniss' hand flew to her mouth as she gagged. She didn't know why it made her feel so sick. Maybe it was the thought of such a horrible thing happening to Peeta was what made her ill but she suddenly felt horrified. Madge looked sympatheic, her eyes gleaming sadly.

"You did say to spare no detail," she pointed out.

Katniss nodded gravelly. "I know," she choked. "Keep going."

"Kat-"

"Keep going."

Shaking her head, Madge stood up and moved to the giant book shelf that was against the far wall. Her fingers danced across the leather spines like thin spiders scurrying across their web to catch their prey. Katniss suddenly found herself wondering what the blonde girl's story was. Why she was so intent on freeing the slaves. Why she was determined to fight and risk her life for males, something that she was very probably raised against her entire life.

"They keep records in the Justice Buildings," Madge explained, interuppting Katniss' reverie. "Of slave's progress, their punishments, etc. etc. I think I remember seeing Mellark here somewhere . . . ah-ha!" She pulled out a thick red leather bound book full of yellowing, dog eared pages. Sitting back down, she opened it up and started flicking through the pages.

"How many Mellarks is there?" Katniss asked in wonder as the girl moved quickly through hundreds upon hundreds of papers.

"This is the entire Mellark family tree," Madge explained. "Most recent ones to the back." She pulled out four piles of paper from the very back of the book. The first pile was made up of about twenty pages, the top one being a fact file type of thing. An old photo was clipped to the corner of a man with weathered skin and hollow blue eyes. "That's Peeta's father, Tom Mellark. He worked in the compound until he was fifteen. That's when Geraldeine Gown took him." Madge handed Katniss a much more well kempt photo than the one of Tom. It was glossy and straight edged, the smiling woman in the picture youthful and pretty.

But there was something else Katniss saw deep in the woman's dark brown gaze. A malice that always resided in the eyes of the women of Panem. The need to hurt, the spill blood, the want to screw and molest and beat and hurt the vulnerable ones in their lives. Because they live on it, they enjoy it-as Madge said, they get off on it. Geraldeine Gown's smile was only a deception towards the hateful witch that brewed deep down inside.

"They had a son, Wayne Mellark." Madge pushed forward the second pile of papers. This pile consisted of over forty pages. "Who Geraldeine immediately had shipped off to the compound. Wayne worked in the compound for many years, being upgraded to P&P by the time he was twenty. He died at the age of twenty five."

Katniss took a look at the boy in the picture. He looked about thirteen, the blond of his hair dark, almost caramel, and the brown of his eyes obviously taken from his mother. He wasn't smiling. Why would he? He obviously didn't have a reason to. "What happened him?" she asked.

"The trainer he was assigned to work with had recently taught a poorly looked after slave how to-I'm sorry, excuse the term-fuck. Because of their lack of interest in taking care of him, he contracted an STD which he then passed on to the trainer who passed it on to Wayne. He spent a year suffering with it before he died," Madge explained.

"That's horrible!" Katniss exclaimed.

Madge shrugged helplessly, not knowing what else to do. She pushed forward the third pile of papers. "Geraldeine was still determined to get a little girl though so she tried again with Tom and once again gave birth to a boy. Ryean Mellark." Ryean was the spitting image of his mother, chocolate brown eyes shining from the flashback of the camera, his ashy hair short and curled around his neck. "Of course, this wouldn't do and she sent him off to the compound as well."

"Is Ryean still alive?" asked Katniss.

The cobalt blue of Madge's eyes darkened with sadness. "No," she said. "He's not."

"What happened him?"

Madge's voice had lowered into a quiet whisper. "He wasn't good enough. He was too afraid. They killed him when he was ten for cowardice. A bullet through the brain. At least that was something, short and painless."

Katniss could barely keep down the bile she felt rising in her throat. "When he was _ten_?"

Madge nodded. "Yes. When he was ten." No longer wanting to talk about Ryean, she rose her voice to it's normal pitch and moved on. "Oh but Geraldeine still wanted a girl, oh yes she did. So she tried again. And she gave birth to the third Mellark boy." She pushed forward the fourth pile.

_Peeta._

His pile of papers had over a hundred in it, all neatly stacked and forming a tall skyscraper-like tower on the desk. Katniss couldn't believe the amount, compared to his brothers' and father's piles. She was immediately curious as to why he had so many.

"Geraldeine sent Peeta away to the compound until he was five," Madge explained, taking three papers off the top of the hundred. She handed them to Katniss. Clipped to the front was a picture of a cherubic little boy with radiant golden hair, bright blue eyes and chubby cheeks tinted with pink. "But for some reason that isn't mentioned, she took him back. She took him back for five or six years, raising him in their little bakery in District 5." Katniss' heart fluttered at the mention of the bakery where Peeta had saved her life. "But then he burnt bread by mistake, and she sent him back to the compound once more."

Katniss watched as Madge moved Peeta's siblings' piles out of the way so she could divide his into sets of five. She pointed at the three in Katniss' hands. "That was Peeta when Geraldeine took him back to 5." She took them from Katniss and handed her another pile. At the front of this one there was another photo, of an older little boy who's cheekbones were more defined, who's hair was buzzed short and who had a cut down his right cheek. "And that's him when he was returned."

"What happened his hair?" Katniss asked, her fingers stroking the sad face on the picture sorrowfully.

"The compound buzzed it all off. Routine for if a customer isn't pleased with what they had bought," Madge explained. Katniss remembered how Peeta's long locks curled around his eyes and the nape of his neck, in dire need of a cut. He probably never wanted to cut his hair again, after having it all buzzed off at one point. "And that cut on his cheek? His mom did that to him with a rolling pin."

Katniss could almost feel the rolling pin being smacked across her face, tearing open a giant gash on her face and making it bleed. Never would her mom have ever laid a finger on herself or Prim in such a horrid way.

"This," Madge said, pointing at the second pile on the desk, "is the notes on his progress in daily routine. Nothing interesting there, all pretty standard stuff." Her finger landed on the third pile. "His mother took him back _again._"

"What?!" Katniss exclaimed.

"Yup," Madge replied. "When he was thirteen his mom returned and took him back again. She had him for two years before she dumped him back at the compound, no longer having a use for him." She slid forward the third pile and Katniss' heart tore apart at the once again buzzed bald boy. Instead of a small cut on his cheek, there was a dark, angry bruise under his eye and his lip was split. "She wasn't stable and beat the living daylights out of him before giving him back."

Staring at the photo, Katniss couldn't help but feel like she was invading in Peeta's privacy. But he never spoke to her about any of this. If she had of knew, maybe she could have helped him in some way. Madge took the photo from her trembling hands and put it down on the table before continueing, knowing that now that she had started it, she had to finish it.

She gestured to the fourth pile. "Upgraded to P&P five months after he was returned by his mother. Weirdly enough that is when he was duct taped for defending his friend." Katniss felt sick as she stared at the second tallest pile in the bunch. "Has all his details on what he's been taught, ways he's been taught, ways he's been punished while in the sector and how far he was in learning before he was purchased by Miss Trinket, your aunt."

Katniss found it difficult to swallow because her mouth was rough as sandpaper. "How far was he in learning?" she found herself asking.

"Top of the class," Madge answered. "He knew it all. But I have a feeling that's because it also states somewhere in there that Jackson spent extra time teaching him."

Katniss' eyes slid to the fifth and final pile. "What's that?" she asked.

Madge paused, her eyes also falling on the biggest pile of them all. "Medical and experimental records," she replied. "It's a day by day history of Jackson's experiments and how they worked . . . or most of the time . . . didn't."

Before she even realized what she was doing, Katniss had snatched a load of papers from the giant pile and was flicking through them, reading everything at breakneck speed.

_**Medical History: Hijack**_

_**Scientist Conducting Experiments: Jackson Lament**_

_**Name of paitent: Peeta Mellark**_

_**Age experiments began: Three months old**_

_**Age experiments ended: Sixteen years old**_

_**Serum in use: Tracker Jacker Venom**_

_**Successful: ?**_

_**Tests incompleted:**_

Katniss' heart stopped at the one test that was still left incompleted. Her mind was still whirling from trying to absorb the fact that they had been experimenting on him since he was three months old but the explanation for the one test they had left had her feeling dizzy.

"Katniss?" Madge asked. "What's wrong?"

"Look," Katniss said shakily turning the page around. "Tests incompleted: Mind control."

Madge's eyes widened. "No," she whispered.

Katniss nodded, holding back tears. "They're going to try and turn him into one of them."

_A/N: Please R&R! :D :D_


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